


Connecting The Dots Between Heaven and Hell

by ouroborosnakes



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Loss of Virginity, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2020-10-25 02:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 33,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20716559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouroborosnakes/pseuds/ouroborosnakes
Summary: Tethered together by an unseen force, Snake and Otacon relearn what it's like to be human through each other.





	1. I.

As oblivious as Otacon may be, some things he did pick up on. The little things Snake did, perhaps out of habit, not accustomed to be living with someone else. Not bad things, per se, but subconcious things, ticks, habits, addictions.

Snake had been gracious enough to let Otacon live him until Shadow Moses blew over, though that turned into a lot more trouble than they had anticipated. Otacon cautiously waited for the day Snake would tire of him and kick him out, and while that hasn't happened _yet_, Snake was still on edge and somewhat hostile every time he interacted with Otacon. As if living together was a mission that he always had to be alert on. For example, just yesterday he saw Otacon making coffee in the kitchen his breath hitched just slightly and he hid behind the wall, like he had completely forgotten Otacon was there, despite how loudly he was clinking the spoon against the cracked, stained mug. 

_I wonder if he has poor memory_, Otacon pondered. Granted, it had only been a few weeks, but Snake would literally sometimes wear the sneaking suit around the house to keep his movements quiet. Still... This was his home, and if he really saw Otacon as a threat, he would have no qualms about telling him to book it. In fact, if it would put him more at ease, Otacon would take the initiative and leave. He had gotten contact information for Mei Ling and even if the three of them were apart, they could certainly keep in contact and continue their research. Every time his perception of calm eased over his internet monitoring, a forum on an unlisted website that blew up his laptop with ads would pull up the code words _Metal Gear,_ to which he would pull Snake over and point everything out. Snake was fluent in a handful of languages and had a decent enough understanding of others to create context, but as they would scan the screen together, Snake was decently distanced away. 

Maybe it was time he brought that up to Snake. Glancing at his watch, Otacon read it was 5:31am. Now wouldn't be a good time, actually. Closing his laptop and stretching his back, his joints popped and he let out a thankful moan, yawning and standing up, kicking aside the blankets he had cocooned himself with and began to take his sweater off. When his crossed arms passed his head he could see a glint in the dark corner of the hallway. The house was otherwise silent, and Otacon narrowed it down to a spec on his glasses reflecting off the moonlight through the window, taking off his glasses and letting them click softly to the floor beside his feet. Once the hem was pulled past his chin, a shadow approached him in complete silence, quicker than he could process before he felt his arm twist, yanked behind his back as Snake pushed him face down into the sofa, sitting on his lower back and something--

"Snake!" He screamed, trying too hard not to thrash. "It's me! Otacon!" It took a few seconds for Snake to understand, turn the safety back on and tuck the gun into the waistband of his boxers. Releasing Otacon's arm and shifting his weight to his foot on the floor, Otacon rolled onto his back and faced Snake as he hovered over the other's hips.

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?!" He shrieked, grabbing at Snake's wrists, who quickly regained control and with a flash had Otacon's hands pinned together above his head, nose just barely inches away from Otacon's. "It's me," softening his voice to not scream in Snake's face and make things worse, Otacon tried to calm him; "It's me, Otacon. I'm not going to hurt you. Let me go." Out of the corner of his eye, Otacon could see Snake's free hand still hovering over his pistol, but the vague shape of his hand moved back and he stood up, took a half-step back and held out a hand to help Otacon up. He stared at it incredulously, which Snake then retreated and turned on his heel, slinking back towards the bedroom.

"Hey!" Otacon shouted, scrambling to his feet, "you can't just walk away from that! We need to talk, Snake!" 

"...Sorry."

"That's not going to cut it. We need to talk. _Now_." Begrudgingly, Snake turned around, finding purchase along the wall as he turned on the kitchen light, giving them enough visibility to see each other without the blinding sudden contrast. Hesitantly approaching, Otacon knew they both wanted to go to bed, but his adrenaline was too much to sleep it off, especially when the heel of Snake's foot made contact with his discarded glasses on the floor. Otacon's fists balled at his side, he inhaled heavily and narrowed his eyes at Snake. 

"Sit. Down." He fumed, pointing the offender to the beat up sofa that smelled more of cigarettes than anything else.

"Otacon--"

"Apologize." Tired blue eyes looked up, not quite remorseful or apologetic but planning a route to get out without repercussions. _Typical_.

"I'm sorry," mumbled under his breath, claiming his apology wasn't sincere was an understatement.

"Sorry for what?"

"For..." _did he actually not know what he did wrong?_ _Oh my God._

"For breaking my glasses, for pinning me down and putting a gun to my head when I was trying to go to bed, for treating me like a stranger or nonexistent or like I mean nothing to you." Otacon inhaled, feeling tears prick a little at his eyes. He couldn't see Snake's expression and he wasn't sure if he wanted to. "I'll leave in the morning. I can't work without my glasses, anyways. I'll stay low and we can keep in contact if you want." 

"I'm sorry." Snake kept his eyes cast downwards, licking his bottom lip. "I'm not good with people. Not used to it. You. Don't leave."

With a sigh, Otacon scratched the back of his neck. That was the answer he expected but not what he wanted to hear. Something a little more genuine than what he already pieced together, but it was a step, he supposed.

"Let's just... Sleep on this." Snake got down on the floor and picked up Otacon's glasses, turning them over a few times before wiping them off with the hem of his boxers and gingerly handing them over, to which Otacon accepted but tucked into the pocket of his sweats. "Don't point a gun at me, I almost fucking pissed myself," he grumbled, making his way around Snake and trudging to the bathroom. 

When he returned, the kitchen light was off, drowning the house in darkness but he roughly knew his way back to the couch. There was minimal furniture to begin with, and what he mainly had to worry about were the cables, but coming in from this angle should be fine.

His hand smacked against Snake's face as he tried to feel the couch, and he pulled his hand back and gasped.

"What are you doing here?" He rasped, trying to focus on the figure lying in his spot.

"I wanted to give you the bed." _Is this how he's apologizing?_

"You could've _told_ me that."

"I just did." Groaning, Otacon shuffled back down the hallway, trying very hard to find his way to the bedroom, then to the bed. Once he was seated he kicked off the rest of his clothes, wrapped himself in the still-warm blankets Snake had and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is short just because i want to establish the setting, which is different from my other snotacon fic. this one is more or less about rebuilding trust and focusing (but not too extensively) on sexual-related PTSD. a lot of little headcanon things and self-projection (lol) but i read some other fics that depicted snake a virgin and i wanted to play around with that idea, though it turned kind of sappy and personal.
> 
> not sure how long this will be, but here's a little bit for now. thank you for reading!


	2. II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY SCHOOL IS KICKING MY ASS and i have like 5 WIPs but i'm trying to get everything out while maintaining my sanity (and GPA).

Breakfast became a war zone. Snake refused to make eye contact because Otacon's grey eyes were burning holes into him, but the small kitchen made it impossible to work around each other without any form of communicating. 

"Sleep okay?" Snake finally broke the silence, tension thick as Otacon set down his glass of water.

"Yes," he said somewhat bitterly. Scratching at his beard, Snake glanced around the room. The only chair was occupied by Otacon and the counters were lined with papers and technological things that probably _shouldn't_ be near the leaky faucet. 

"I'm sorry," grumbling, Snake shifted his weight between his bare feet on the tile, speaking in short, awkward sentences. "I'm not... Good with others. Solo missions. Radio support. I'm not used to being _around_ other people. Especially not since retirement. It's just been me and my dogs and that's all I needed. You're different than a dog." Otacon exhaled a short laugh through his nose, but otherwise showed minimal emotion, focusing instead on listening intently to Snake's mumbled apology. "If I've made you feel uncomfortable or unwelcomed, I'm sorry. If you want to leave..." he swallowed the tension and continued, "you have every right to. I won't make you stay." Pausing, Snake lifted his eyes to meet Otacon's, who returned the gesture with a softness around the edge. His glasses were on the kitchen table, the man having to squint slightly, but seemed to have warmed up some.

"Why are you afraid of me?" Eyebrows turning inwards, Snake opens his mouth and closes it before speaking again.

"What?"

"Why are you afraid of me?" Otacon repeats, sitting up straighter. "I understand not being the best at social interactions - trust me, I'm no butterfly - but at the moment we're _living_ together. You don't pull a gun on your housemate for going to bed. I've broken it down to either you're untrusting of me, you're afraid of some unknown variable thrown in your life or you're extremely on edge and paranoid about Shadow Moses. Or, hypothetically, all three. If it'd ease your mind, I'll get out of your hair." He holds his tongue about how he'd have a hell of a time finding somewhere to go after this, Snake watching him curiously.

"We could benefit off each other," Snake blurts out, eyes gauging Otacon's surprised reaction.

"Huh?" Combing his fingers through his hair, Snake hums in thought, deep in his throat. "What do you mean?"

"You found some leads on Metal Gear, right?" Otacon nods and makes a so-so hand motion. "You could stay here and continue your research and I can protect you."

Slowly forming his words, Otacon stares blankly at Snake. "Isn't that... Kind of what we're doing already?" Nodding firmly, Snake crosses his arms in satisfaction. "That doesn't change anything, or address the problem. You... You've just explained the setup. I _am_ doing my research and _you're_ constantly on alert. Pointing a gun at me isn't protecting me, Snake."

"It wasn't loaded," he offered as a consolation, to which Otacon's jaw drops, baffled.

"It wasn't _loaded_?" Otacon croaks, palms flat on the table. "That's even worse! Why were you carrying an unloaded weapon if you thought I was an intruder? What good would that have done?! God." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Otacon sighed and closed his eyes, recollecting himself. "Okay, jeez. I need a minute." Standing up, Otacon takes his glass of water with him and calls over his shoulder that he's taking a shower, promptly disappearing behind the bathroom door that doesn't close all the way.

It was as soon as the water turned a reasonable temperature that Otacon let his guard down, bangs matting against his forehead and dipping into his view. The sound of the paper-thin plastic curtain moving made him jump, seeing Snake's face out of focus.

"Let's start over," he said as he stuck his hand out, elbow stiff, face stern; almost robotic. "I'm Solid Snake. You can call me Snake."

Otacon stared in disbelief. "Snake," he began, trying to gather his words, "we've been living together for almost two months. Don't you think it's a little late for this?" His hand remained extended, anticipating a shake and not moving until it was granted. With a roll of his eyes and a huff through his nostrils, Otacon obliged, matching the motion. The palm of Snake's hand was calloused, his grip firm.

"Nice to meet you, Snake. I'm Otacon." They shook once, twice, then stilled. Otacon could almost imagine the finger-shaped bruises that would bloom on his poor skin.

"So, Otacon. Now what?"

"Now, can you let me finish my shower before you interrupted me? And let go of my hand." Snake retreated as stiffly and silently has he arrived, pushing the curtain shut and closing the door the best it would. 

* * *

"When was the last time you had talked with someone outside of a mission?" Laptop pulled into his lap with two monitors nearby, Otacon didn't look up to see Snake standing by the door. "Not like a date or anything, but any human interaction that wasn't for some greater scheme."

"I've never been on a date." Stopping mid-keystroke, Otacon turns his head to look at the other. "Really," he answers to Otacon's unspoken question. "Never had the time or patience. Everything always had a reason or a greater purpose so I never had the time to mingle."

"_Huh_." Resuming his work, it slowly clicks on why Snake is as awkward as he is - he's never had _human_ interaction because he's never truly _been_ human.

"Don't pity me," the taller man grumbles, turning over his lighter in his hand. "It's just the way things turned out. I was created to be a fighter, not a lover." The phrase made Otacon snort, then covered his face with one hand and waved the other around in a flustered apology. 

"S-Sorry, I shouldn't have laughed at that. That makes a little sense, I suppose." Snake's curiosity piqued, he gingerly sat on the arm of the couch, leaving Otacon enough working room without messing things up and placing a cigarette between his lips.

"Good to hear you laugh again."

"Good to see you let your guard down." It was subtle, but out of Otacon's peripheral he could see Snake's spine straighten a little subconsciously, turning on alert mode. "Sorry," he briefly apologizes, then resumes his typing. Snake half-shrugs it off and lights a smoke, inhaling in silence but keeping his posture rigid.

Otacon mumbled something beneath his breath, fingers slowed in their movements as his eyebrows furrowed. Standing, Snake assumed he was needing his glasses, searching from their last position before returning empty handed. They sat folded on the other side of Otacon, to which Snake leaned over and grabbed to inspect. Otacon had tinkered with them a little to make them wearable, but didn't enjoy the tight way they fit on his face, lest they slip down. 

"You've really never been on a date?" Speaking without thinking, Otacon stiffens up at the question just as much as Snake does. "I'm sor--" his apology is cut by a barking laugh from Snake, nearly dropping his cigarette on Otacon's lap. 

Settling back on the armrest, Snake finished his cigarette in silence, turning over Otacon's glasses and delicately bending the frames.

"You'd think you'd have a backup pair," he followed up with, not looking at Otacon, who watched him with unfocused eyes.

"I don't really have much on me in general, and they're too strong of a prescription to pick up at a drugstore. I've been wearing glasses for as long as I could remember and I don't know how long I have 'til I inevitably go blind." With a short exhale, Otacon rolls the hem of his sweater sleeve behind his wrist. "I was offered surgery when I was in high school but turned it down. Really should've done it, looking back."

"Why didn't you?" Uncurling the fabric, Otacon tucked his hands into his sleeves completely and pressed them tightly between his knees, looking down at his socked feet. 

"I, uh..." pausing and tucking his chin to his chest, he continues softly, "someone told me glasses looked... Cute. I couldn't get rid of them then."

With a knowing nod, Snake snubs out the cigarette and hands the glasses over. "A girl, huh? Couldn't say no a cutie." For a moment, Otacon didn't take what was offered to him, keeping his gaze down and when he finally looked up he had an expression that could only been described as a grimace. Snake backpedalled and, with a slight tilt of his head, retried; "Or... a guy?"

In one swift movement Otacon took his glasses from Snake's hand, closed his laptop, stood and slammed the bathroom door behind him, followed by the lock clicking. Exhaling through his nostrils, Snake pocketed his cigarettes with his lighter tucked into the carton and slipped on the pair of sneakers by the back door before dipping into the misty afternoon drizzle. 

* * *

Snake returns no more than an hour later, drenched and chilled in the autumn rain to see the bathroom door is still firmly shut. A little disappointed he couldn't immediately hop into the shower, Snake rings out his shirt in the kitchen sink and uses a dish towel to try and dry his hair to not drip everywhere. 

"Otacon?" He asked, knocking with the back of his hand. The shadow beneath the door shifts, grabs the handle and jiggles it. It doesn't open and Otacon makes no sound, aside from trying the knob again after a short pause. "....Are you locked in?" For a third time, the handle turns but sticks. "Step back for a second." Waiting until Otacon obliges, Snake takes a few steps back, secures his feet against the carpeted hallway and squares his right shoulder up before ramming it against the door, knocking it out of its frame and a little off its hinges. Catching himself, Snake straightens and is met by Otacon standing against the furthest corner of the bathroom without being in the shower, hands wrapped around his waist and eyes red. 

"There was an earthquake around here a few years ago." Stepping out of the bathroom, he gives Otacon room to dodge his way back to the kitchen, pacing around the table. "None of the interior doors close properly since the foundation shifted. I made sure the exterior ones do, but the bedroom, bathroom and closet doors are always ajar. I forgot to mention that."

Nodding, Otacon remained silent, Snake's eyes observing him before figuring that might've been making things worse and then went to take his shower. 

By the time he had finished and redressed, Otacon was back on the sofa, sweater propped up under his head and a throw blanket loosely thrown over his legs, all other bedding strewn about the floor, as well as papers and notebooks alike. Taking another look over the scene, Snake decides the other is obviously upset about something and retreats to his bedroom, restlessly going to his closet to dismantle and clean his guns and try not to mull over the small progress he's made only to be set back to square one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaa


	3. III.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short, at work, finals week update lmao. i’m SWAMPED so forgive me

Otacon had ungracefully rubbed one out while Snake was occupied in the bedroom. With his eyes focused on the hallway for any shadows, he was silent through his deed and cleaned off with a dirty sock he had abandoned on the floor. It was gross, indecent and shameful, but he had so much pent up frustration and anxiety he needed release someway, somehow. Almost immediately after he fell asleep, making sure there was no evidence of any suspicious activity.

He awoke again at dusk, a cold gust of wind from the oncoming storm tickling at the back of his bare neck. Snake was sliding off his boots when Otacon peeked his head over the sofa, then laid back down as he listened to Snake run the shower water and draw the curtain closed. Feeling he had a few minutes alone, Otacon stuck his hand back down his sweatpants and stared at the ceiling, listening to the running water. It had nothing to do with Snake in the shower, but the empty pit in his stomach that could be sated with an orgasm, even if he had to force one. There was no gratification and he mumbled a meaningless name as he came, the uncomfortable feeling of the words on his tongue leaving a bad taste in his mouth. He only felt worse post orgasm and willed himself to at least change his shirt.

After his shower, Snake started dinner. Nothing special, just hamburgers from the fresh meat he went out to buy, leaving a couple for Otacon, whenever the other decided to get up. A thought to thank Snake briefly passed the younger's mind, but when he finally formed the words Snake had not only finished eating and cleaned his dishes, but was starting a movie in his bedroom while simultaneously jotting something down in a tattered leather bound notebook. Otacon ate and cleaned in silence, then rearranged his blankets and queued up a playlist of songs to start working on a string of codes.

The rest of the evening concluded without ever speaking to one another.

* * *

By the time Otacon had finally decided to sleep, Snake had not only left and returned from his morning run, but had cleaned and shaved, trying to figure out what groceries he would need to buy. Hopefully, by going to bed then, Otacon could save himself from another hostile breakfast, maybe even lunch and dinner. He could survive not speaking - that's how he managed college for some time. Drinking a glass of water and running a hand through his knotty hair, Otacon cocooned himself in his blankets and tucked himself away on the same sofa he'd been sitting on for almost a full 24 hours. Snake watched him from the table, then left the house in silence. 

* * *

“Otacon,” Snake’s gruff voice and firm grip on his shoulder woke the man, jolting alert with his heart pounding. “You need to eat.” 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, wiping his drool off his bottom lip with the back of his hand. 

“You could also use a shower,” Snake said with the slightest upturn of his nose, releasing his gasp and striding back to the kitchen.

Sitting up, Otacon rubbed his shoulder and frowned. “Don’t touch me,” he whispered, Snake glancing over his shoulder. The silence in the house was suffocating. 

“Sorry.” Without much else to say, Snake disappeared again, Otacon not bothering to see where. With tense joints, he stood and went to the bathroom, keeping the door cracked slightly as he ran the hot water and let himself be alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Snake was sharpening a knife at the kitchen table when Otacon walked in, tensing up at the sight. Not something he wanted to walk into, but he supposed that was a normal occurrence for the soldier. Peeking through the pantry to see what Snake was purchased, he gasped loudly as he heard the sound of the knife being stabbed into the table.

”Otacon,” he asked, sitting up straight and crossing his legs, fingers folded over his knee, “I have a question.” 

For a moment, Otacon hesitated, not turning around but giving a curt nod.

”Are you gay?” The blunt question caught him off guard, fingers grasping tightly on the box of cereal he was holding.

”_What?_” He croaked out, turning around as his eyes immediately darted to the knife. Snake must’ve seen it, as he gripped the handle and pulled it out from its spot in the wood. The muscles in Otacon’s body tensed up, body breaking hard into a fight or flight reaction. 

“You seemed upset about it yesterday,” he tried to explain, falling short of any other context. Right, with the ‘or a guy’ comment. Otacon’s teeth ground into each other, trying to will himself to stay calm and please, God, to not cry.

”That wasn’t it.”

”Was it about me?”

”No.”

”About—“

”It’s none of your goddamn business!” Otacon snapped, slamming his fist against the pantry door and in the same second Snake jumped up, knocking the chair over and grabbed his knife, defensive and positioned to attack. Both of their breathing caught, Snake lowered his knife first, sheathing it in its leather confinement and setting it down on the table. Otacon tried to fix the dents in the cereal box, pouring the generic brand into a mug with a spoon and going back to the couch.

The click of a lighter and the smell of a cigarette’s smoke drifted through the air, and Otacon found himself not bothering to say anything. His appetite was already lost, but he tried to eat at least a few spoonfuls of dry cereal, trying to not let his watery eyes break the waterline. 

Setting the mug down with the spoon clinking against it, Otacon pulled out his laptop and put on his headphones, only vaguely seeing glimpses of Snake move about. When those little movements ceased, Otacon paused his music and sat up. Snake was on the kitchen floor, setting up a mouse trap to put behind the fridge. Waiting until it was set and placed, Otacon opened his mouth.

”Would it matter?” He asked, Snake glancing over. Sweat beaded on his forehead, probably having been working out before he spotted mouse droppings and began this new task.

”No.”

”Okay.” A pause. “I’m not.”

”Okay. Neither am I.” Standing up, Snake wiped his hands on the front of his shirt. “I don’t think I am.”

”Okay,” Otacon said, reclining back against the pillows and putting his headphones on. He didn’t play the video and he heard what sounded like Snake saying something else, but he needed to immerse himself in something before his nerves wound up again. 

The light to Snake’s bedroom turned on, then disappeared behind the door, the thin strip between the frame and the wood slicing a dull orange across the hall. Otacon hit play. 


	4. IV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a nice, long chapter. :') enjoy
> 
> (brief gore and emetophobia warning but it's not bad)

Otacon woke up to a duffle bag being dropped on his chest, jolting him away with a shout. Snake, standing in front of him, just stared.

"What?" He grumbled, readjusting the assaulting bag.

"We're leaving." Otacon blinked once, twice, then nodded firmly with his lips in a thin line, sitting up. It had occurred to Otacon that this would happen at some point - this would only be a temporary thing, and they'd been here three weeks already. At least, he thought it'd been three weeks. The past few days had felt like years.

A layer of dirty clothes, some technology, repeat until the bag was filled with his belongings. Toiletries went into a side pocket after taking a quick shower. When he was redressed with his bag slung over his shoulder, Snake wordlessly pressed a gun into his hand, turned the safety off and on twice, showing Otacon how to do it before tucking it into one of the bag's pockets. 

"I've got a car ready," Snake said, yanking on a pullover and tying his boots. They disposed of the perishables and left anything they didn't need, Snake locking up and then handing Otacon the key, who awkwardly put it in his front jean pocket. 

They hiked for a while, passed a deer that ran from them. An unmarked path full of twigs snapped noisily beneath their feet, birds cawing overheard. A gleam of metal caught Otacon's eye, who was stopped when Snake put a hand in the middle of his chest, instructing him to stay put. 

"Hand me the gun," he ordered, Otacon fumbling with the zipper before passing it over. "Cover your ears." There was a silencer on it, but Otacon did as he was told, taking half a step back while Snake flicked safety off and cocked it. With impeccable aim, he shot the tire four times, pulled out a knife and approached the car. Digging the tip of the blade into one of the bullet holes, Otacon watched Snake rip the tire open and pull out a key, which he unlocked the car and popped the trunk with. Inside the trunk was a spare, a toolbox and all the extra necessities to replace the now busted tire.

Watching Snake work, Otacon thought about how all of this seemed unnecessary and inconvenient, but he chalked it up to Snake just not being trustworthy and wanting to take the extra precautions. The engine rumbled to life, Snake grabbing the bag from Otacon's shoulder and tossing it into the back, then taking his seat in the passenger's spot. Dumbfounded, Otacon stood before his feet start moving, assuming the position of driver.

He wasn't asked if he wanted to drive and the car was still under a layer of foliage. 

"Uh," was all Otacon could say, motioning with his hands at the branches hiding their car. With a frown, Snake got up and started brushing everything aside, slapping the dashboard when he sat back down, like hitting a horse's ass to move. Reversing and driving slowly through the early morning light, Otacon quickly realized he did not know where they were going. Why had Snake made him drive? Why did he so willingly get in? 

"Don't get on the highway." _Great_, Otacon thought. _I don't even know how to get to the highway_.

With as minimal words as possible, Snake got Otacon driving down a frontage road, which he thought was idiotic, seeming as it was just parallel _to_ the highway. It lead to a lot of farmland, getting off and taking unpaved back roads through barren fields. Around noon, Snake had them stop at a gas station that had an attendant ready. Using the bathroom, getting snacks and cigarettes, Snake tipped the kid and drove them away.

"Where are we going?" Otacon asked after hours of driving. Any signs he might've passed meant nothing to his limited knowledge of farming towns. 

"Missouri."

"Why?"

"Hunch." Turning in his seat with half a peeled orange in his hand, Otacon gawked at Snake.

"A _hunch_?"

"I got in contact with someone. Trustworthy source. It'll be fine." Inhaling through his teeth, Otacon sat back and finished peeling. 

"Was there something wrong with that house?"

"No. We just needed to move." Palm up, Snake extended his hand, which Otacon stared at for a moment before breaking off a slice and placing it delicately on the rough skin, then popped it in his mouth. 

They pulled along the side of the road for Otacon to pee in a bush, having drank too much tea too quickly. Snake had turned on the radio, flipping through stations until something that wasn't entirely static came through. When Otacon slid back in the seat, he glanced between the radio and Snake, who's eyes were fixed on the road ahead.

"Led Zeppelin?" With a nod, Snake started back on the road, though Otacon could hear him humming, low in his throat. "This is an old song, isn't it?"

"Came out the year I was born." Biting the inside of his cheek, Otacon turned and pressed his head against the window and mumbled a brief 'sorry'. 

The song concluded, an advertisement for a local mom and pop diner having their 65th anniversary lunch, an advertisement for a used car lot, the radio DJ telling the otherwise silent car more great hits coming up for the next hour, then a Paul Simon song came on, to which Snake turned the volume down to almost nothing. 

Palms flat on the dashboard, Otacon sat up and inhaled.

"Okay," he began. "We need to talk."

"Is now the time?"

"Is there a better time?"

"I guess not. What is it?"

"I don't want to sound like an asshole or anything, but I don't want to drive to Missouri with you in this-" he waved his hands around, "-hostile air. We should talk about it."

"What's there to talk about?" Otacon paused and furrowed his eyebrows.

"I don't know. Something's just been... Off."

"You were mad I pulled a gun on you that one night."

"And then you broke my glasses." Broken frames were taped together just well enough he could see, but would definitely need them repaired as soon as he could. 

"Yeah. Then you started ignoring me."

"You were pissing me off."

"Sorry."

"I'm sorry, too. Are we good?" Snake shrugged. 

"Sure."

"Great."

It didn't help much, but Otacon looked out the window and listened to the soft music from the radio.

* * *

The rumble and whistle from a train woke Otacon up, Snake stopped at the flashing lights of a track. Looking over, he mustered some sort smile, then put the car in park.

"Could you drive?" Still a little drowsy, Otacon nodded, opening the door to get up but forgetting he still had his belt on and swore under his breath. "Or we can switch at the next gas station," the other offered.

"Sure," he said with a yawn. Pumping their own gas, Otacon bought a couple energy drinks and pre-wrapped sub sandwiches to bring back to Snake, who was finished and already comfortable in the passenger's seat. 

"Are you going to sleep?" 

"Not sure."

"Can I turn the radio up?"

"Sure." Keeping it quiet, Otacon played with the stations as he got back on the road, making sure this was the right way before settling it.

"I remember this song," Snake says, unwrapping a sandwich and taking a bite into dry bread. 

"This came out the year I was born."

"Really?" Otacon nodded, turning it up just a notch. "I remember hearing this in the barracks."

"You listened to Depeche Mode in the army?" Cracking open a drink, Otacon took a sip and let the carbonation rumble in his throat. 

"Not me personally," he clarified, "but the guys would play it to avoid raising suspicion." With a wry smile on his lips, Snake crosses his arms over his chest and looks out of the window. The sun was already starting it's descent for the day. 

"Avoid raising suspicion?" 

"Things echo in the showers, so they played music like this to drown in out."

"This song reminds you of guys _fucking_?" The dubious tone in Otacon's voice makes Snake laugh, going for a pack of cigarettes and rolls his window down a couple inches.

"When you put it like that, it makes it sound bad. It's a good song and all," he snorts, trying to still his chuckling enough to light and exhale. "But that's just my memory of it."

"I remember hearing it in high school. It might've been played at homecoming."

"Maybe. Homecoming sounds nice."

"It wasn't when you were ditched." Snake clicks his tongue. "Or when you didn't realize the punch was spiked and you spit it out on your tux that you borrowed from your neighbor's son and you had to mow her lawn all summer to repay her."

"I think I'd take sloppy public shower blowjobs over that." Taking a sip to recover from his embarrassing memory, Otacon was caught off guard at Snake's comment that he almost spit out his drink, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth and trying carefully to swallow without making a mess. As soon as he was able to, he slapped both hands on the steering wheel and laughed, deep in his gut, knuckles turning white from how hard he was trying to keep himself together.

"That's fucked up," he finally said, Snake flicking the cigarette butt out the window and letting the car air out.

"The army was fucked up." A Fleetwood Mac song started playing, creating background noise while they finished eating and Snake took a brief nap, albeit restless.

"Next time you seen a motel, pull over. Not some franchise, though." Digging through their plastic bag, Snake drank almost an entire water bottle in one sip.

"Got it." They'd been on the road for over 12 hours before they pulled over for the night, Otacon paying in cash while Snake scoped out the area. 

"One bed?" Snake asked, dropping his bag on the dirty rug.

"What? That's how we were living at the last house."

"I would think you'd want a bed." With a shrug, Otacon started shifting through his bag.

"I'll just take the couch again. No biggie."

"Did the guy give you a weird look?" Looking up, the dots in Otacon's head slowly connected.

"Oh. _Oh_. Uh, no, I don't think so. They've probably seen weirder shit." Dumping out a plastic bag full of wrappers, Otacon filled it with laundry and counted out quarters. "I'm gonna do laundry while we're here."

"Take the SOCOM with you." Digging it out, Otacon tucks it into the back of his jeans and throws on a jacket and leaves the room, noticing once he's out how much the room smelled of dog hair.

Otacon tries really hard not to think about the fact he's got a loaded gun on him while he's trying to do laundry at a shitty little hotel in the middle of nowhere. There's two washers and three dryers, one of which has someone's laundry in it, but there's no signs of another person. A crumpled map tacked to the wall tells him he's in Nebraska and Otacon realizes that means nothing to him, really. After Shadow Moses and living with Snake, things just kind of happen as they occur. And right now, he was doing laundry with a gun tucked into his belt while the sleazy-looking balding, middle aged man working the front desk that had a broken light overhead probably has some inaccurate thoughts of who he is. With a sigh, Otacon supposes he'd rather be some gay stranger with his boyfriend in a country town than a super-soldier and a scientist who almost triggered a nuclear war in a terrorist attack on a remote Alaskan island. Assumptions are probably better than the truth, for once. 

Carrying his laundry back to their room, Otacon sets the gun on the kitchenette counter, locks the door and knocks on Snake's bedroom door.

"Snake?" He asks, listening to any movement. "Can I borrow a pillow and a blanket?" Some shuffling around, a grumble and Snake opens the door, a towel tied loosely around his waist and shaving cream spattered on his neck, cheeks and jawline, a few strips already cleaned off by a razor. They stand there for a moment, then Snake moves aside for Otacon to help himself to the bedding he needs.

Armed with two blankets and a pillow, Otacon stops by the bathroom, where Snake has resumed shaving with a lit cigarette in his mouth.

"Did you use an alias at the desk?" 

"Yeah. Didn't even ask for an ID. Just signed my name and paid in cash." Snake nods, lifting his chin to get around his Adam's apple.

"Do you need the bathroom?"

"No, I was just wondering something." In the mirror's reflection, Snake's eyes flick over to Otacon, waiting for him to continue. "Did you shave your chest?" Taking the cigarette from his lips and tapping the ash to the running water from the faucet, he continues watching Otacon through the mirror. 

"I have to," was all he answered, taking another drag and going back to his work. 

"Are you going on a mission?"

"Maybe. Shaving fits the suit better." Nodding, Otacon's eyes drop the the top of Snake's towel. They hadn't intentionally seen each other naked, but Snake walked around shirtless enough that Otacon noticed the trail from his navel lower was now completely smooth. Subconsciously, Otacon scratched at his own stomach, coarse hairs still present. He briefly thought about shaving, but it wasn't necessary and dismissed the thought, walking away and setting up his bed. 

"We're leaving at 4 am tomorrow," Snake announced after finishing and dressing into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. "So get some sleep. We can grab breakfast on the road." Already set up with his laptop and headphones on, Otacon didn't bother pausing his video after hacking into the wifi that he'd otherwise have to pay for, and gave Snake a thumbs-up, knowing very well he wouldn't sleep much tonight. 

* * *

By the time Otacon wakes up, it's a little past 5:30, he's buckled across the backseat in a different car than they were driving the day before, and Snake's chewing thoughtfully on McDonald's with his hair tied back and sunglasses on.

"Huh?" He asks, dumbly, trying to collect his thoughts. Rubbing at his eyes, he unbuckles the seatbelts and sits up. Snake's head turns slightly, looking at Otacon through the rearview mirror, but his glasses are so dark that Otacon can't really tell. 

"Are you hungry?"

"Uh, sure?" Passing over the greasy bag, Snake also hands Otacon a cup of black coffee, which he sips hesitantly. "You don't seem like the fast food type." Shrugging, Snake takes another bite, driving on yet another back road with no noticeable features aside from cattle every so often. 

"Did you have a bad dream?" 

"Hm?" The food was now a little cold, but Otacon still took a larger bite of a hashbrown than necessary. 

"You were talking in your sleep," Snake says, matter-of-factly.

"Hm," he says again, less interested. "Don't remember." Again, Snake glances back at Otacon in the mirror, expression unreadable. "Did I say something?"

"No." It's left at that, but Otacon has a feeling in his gut he did and Snake just doesn't want to mention it. 

Snake never asks Otacon to switch and Otacon doesn't offer, just eats and goes back to sleep. Every so often, he wakes to hear Snake singing the radio, but just quiet enough he's not sure if he's dreaming it or not. He does, however, register very clearly Snake's voice cracking to a Blue Öyster Cult song, and he falls back asleep with his fingers drumming on his chest in rhythm to the song. 

A conversation wakes him up again; something between Snake and someone he doesn't recognize. Sitting up and realizing he's in the car by himself, he looks out the windows as he tries to gather his surroundings. The engine and the radio are still on, and there's the recently-familiar scent of a cigarette nearby. Off to the distance, Snake is talking with someone, just barely out of earshot. Stubbing out their cigarettes, exchanging a bulky manilla envelope wrapped in twine and a nod to one another, the other departed to their own car, also stalling in the distance. 

Instead of the driver's seat door, Snake pulls open the backseat door, grabbing Otacon's bag from the floor and motioning for Otacon to come with. His foot is asleep, but he stumbles behind Snake as he leads them to the other car and sits himself in the passenger seat. Confused, Otacon sits in the back, Snake immediately turning around and staring at him.

"You're driving."

"I am?" Looking over, there's no driver, and the other person is gone - so is their other car. "Oh." Switching seats, Otacon adjusts some things before taking Snake's directions and driving away. 

About half an hour passes before Snake pulls out the envelope, unwrapping it and ripping the tape open. Before he opened the actual envelope, he rummaged through the glove compartment and pulled out a pair of latex gloves, then tore the seal and reached inside. Curiously watching from the corner of his eye, Otacon almost slammed on the breaks when Snake pulled out a air-tight dismembered part of an arm. 

"What the fuck!" He screamed, Snake seemingly undisturbed by the body piece or the outburst. "Is that what we drove here for? F-For _that_?!" Examining it for a few more seconds, Snake slid it back in the package, rewrapped the twine and slid his gloves off. 

"We're not in Missouri yet," Snake said calmly. 

"Oh my God," slowly to a stop, Otacon pulled over on the side of the road and parked the car, resting his head on his forearms from where his hands remained gripped to the steering wheel. "Oh, my God," he whispered.

"Are you okay?"

"Who--" Otacon swallowed thickly, "who... Who's hand was that?"

"Revolver Ocelot." 

"Why."

"Why?"

"Why do you have it? Why do we need it? Why doesn't _he_ have it? Why are you so calm about it?"

"Otacon." Putting his hand on Otacon's shoulder in an attempt to be reassuring, the other man jumped and his breathing picked up. 

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"It's a clue to finding him. He's the only remaining member of FOXHOUND. I saw it get cut off by Frank Jaeger. I'm used to this, I guess."

"I'm going to be sick," Otacon repeated, scrambling for his seatbelt before swinging the door open and throwing up on the asphalt, unable to make it out of the car. Getting out from his side, Snake hides the package in a suitcase full of similar looking envelopes, locking it and setting it next to a box of office supplies. Taking two water bottles from their brief errand run, Snake stands besides Otacon and washes out the vomit as it happens.

Tears staining his cheeks, Otacon grabs onto Snake's forearm and grips it as if his life depended on it. Offering the other water, he lets Otacon take a swig before handing him a handkerchief. 

"Are you going to be okay?" 

"I don't know," in a small, scared voice, Otacon stares at a messy puddle of water and regurgitated McDonald's that reflects Snake's body besides him. "I want to go home." 

"We'll get another hotel. I'll drive." 

"Okay," Otacon mouths, unable to find his voice, shuffling his way to the passenger's seat and curling up as small as he can. Snake plays the radio for a while, driving about half a mile to get away from the vomit mess and lets Otacon relax. Taking off his pullover and draping it over Otacon, they sit in silence as Otacon's eyes finally dry.

"Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know snake and otacon were born in 1972 and 1980 respectively, but i played a little with the music choices and those release years a bit, so they aren't 100% accurate but only by a year or so.
> 
> this is also probably got an inaccurate timeline and i don't think anyone ever got possession of ocelot's arm but whatever lol
> 
> also i'm so bad at writing slow burns i feel like this is taking FOREVER but also i'm writing like... four snotacon fics rn and it's hard to keep them all in order. sorry u_u


	5. V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more emeto /shrug

Otacon threw up again, leaning out the window, Snake hastily pulling into the first parking lot they came across. 

“Stay here,” he instructed, leaving the car running while he went inside the small convenience store. Returning with knock-off Tums, a case of water bottles, a bag of pretzels and a map, Otacon chewed a couple tablets while staring out the window. 

“There’s a hotel about eight miles from here,” was all Snake said before he started driving again, Otacon nodding silently. 

Parking reasonably far in the lot, Snake carried their belongings while Otacon slowly followed behind him, hands in the pockets of Snake’s sweatshirt. Making sure to get a room with two beds, Snake was handed two key cards while Otacon splashed his face with cool water in the lobby’s bathroom. 

They took the elevator and even though Snake would’ve preferred taking the stairs, Otacon was very grateful. It was a nice looking hotel, but awfully vacant, with long hallways and small rooms. Tossing his bag on one of the beds, Snake set Otacon’s down on the other and did his routine check around the area while Otacon beelined for the bathroom to brush his teeth.

By the time they both finished and regrouped, there wasn’t much to say. Snake sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees with his hands dangling in the open space. Otacon sat on the floor of the opposing bed, back angled and reclined almost uncomfortably with a trash can clenched tightly in his clammy hands.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I usually don’t get sick like this.”

“Otacon.”

“I think I’m okay. Just… Just a little shaken up, I-I guess.” With a sigh, Snake ran his fingers through his hair. 

“There were worse horrors at Shadow Moses.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t expecting _ that _.” 

“Okay, fair. I’ll let my contact know we’ll be a little late and have to rendezvous at another time. It’ll be… fine.” 

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“Okay.”

“Do you need anything?” Otacon laughed a little bitterly.

“A shower, a nap, some water. A bed that doesn’t smell like moth balls.”

“How’s your stomach?”

“Better. Could you get some saltines?” 

“Sure. Can you shower all right?” Nodding feebly, Otacon lifted himself off the floor and shuffled his way to the bathroom, fumbling around until turning the water on. Tucking money and his gun into the inside of his coat, Snake set out.

* * *

In his pajamas, Otacon was laying on the bed atop the covers, glasses off and hands folded on his chest. He looked peaceful, pale. With water, crackers and a plastic packet of medicine, Snake handed everything to Otacon, who thanked him and downed the pills.

“Snake?” 

“Hm?”

“I have a weird request. Could you…” swallowing thickly, he took another sip, “could you tell me a story?”

Cocking an eyebrow curiously, Snake repeated him. “Tell you a story?”

“I need something to ground me and I think your voice will help. As long as you don’t tell any fucked up stories.”

“That’s a pretty narrow margin.” Sitting back on the edge of the bed, Snake reclines on his palms and looks up at the ceiling’s water stains. Scratching the back of his neck, he makes a lot “uhhh” sound while he thinks.

“Did you go to college?” Otacon prompts.

“No. Enlisted as soon as I could. You did, right? Got a doctorate.”

“Oh, yeah. Feels like so long ago.” A pause. “Do you have any good memories of the service?”

“Good memories, huh?” His fingers scratch at his jaw, almost as if he’s expecting his beard to be there, but it’s replaced by just the slightest hint of stubble. “I didn’t keep in touch with anyone after the green berets, especially after being recruited for FOXHOUND.” Snake’s fingers twitch, then he brushes through his hair again. Antsy. “The army was a lot more relaxed in comparison. Made the service look like a bunch of guys just jackin’ around. Which we did, but they did that in at FOXHOUND as well.” Shrug. “Maybe that’s just part of the experience.”

“Jacking off?” The words make Snake snort, shifting his eyes to look at Otacon, who’s squinting at him. 

“Uh, yeah. Do we have any gum?”

“Gum? In my bag, maybe. You can’t smoke in here?” Shaking his head, Snake sought out gum and popped two in his mouth before settling back on the bed, sitting with his legs crossed. 

“This place is a little nicer than the last one. But yeah, that happened sometimes. I think it’s fairly common. Could be worse,” Otacon nods in agreement. 

“Is that what you mentioned earlier? With Depeche Mode?”

“Mm-hmm. That’s just one very vivid memory I have. I was just trying to get clean when all that was going on, so I think that’s why the song stuck with me so well. Do you want a piece?”

“Sure.” Tossing it over to the other bed, Otacon unwraps a piece and toys with the paper wrapper while Snake continues talking.

“I never joined them, just wasn’t really my thing. I’d heard stories, of course, some I still don’t believe.” Idly blowing a bubble with his gum, Snake stares up at the ceiling again, lost in thought. “Well, that’s a lie. There were a couple times, but that was different. That was at FOXHOUND, back when I was a rookie. I knew better, but it was such an adrenaline rush, constantly, that it was almost inevitable.”

“Hm.”

“Just me and a couple other guys, blowing off steam in the barracks in our down time. Nothing more than-” he makes a jerking motion with a tight fist for a few pumps before dropping it back to the bed, “but it was more or less just the comfort of being with someone else, nothing more.” Exhaling through his nose, Snake pointedly keeps staring at the ceiling, not making eye contact with Otacon. 

“That’s to be expected, I guess.”

“I remember once I dislocated my shoulder,” an airy, little laugh, “someone offered to help but I turned him down. Didn’t want to be a burden, but I don’t think I was ready for that kind of thing, I guess.” 

“Snake,” Otacon began, sitting up and brushing crumbs off his t-shirt onto the floor. “Can I ask a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Uh,” clearing his throat, Otacon directs his attention down to his feet, flexing his toes in a pair of socks. “Are you a virgin?”

Snake lets his head center again, looking over at Otacon, and says very plainly “yes.”

“Ah,” was all Otacon said, trying not to look as surprised as he felt. “Really?”

“Is that surprising?”

“I mean, given what I know about you, I guess not, but you could’ve fooled me.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Otacon shrugs, then realizes that’s not a good answer. 

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing.”

“Reassuring.” Looking up, Otacon can see Snake has an uncomfortable look on his face. Almost like he’s exposed something very private, personal, secret about him. Otacon immediately feels bad for prying, and inhales, trying to actually be reassuring.

“Can I ask why?” Is what he asks, anyways.

“Didn’t have the time, mainly.” Scratching at his ankle, trying to direct his focus to something different, Snake thinks of an answer. “Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I think love is important in sex. Never talked to anyone in or outside the service, never had the chance to fall in love, never had the chance to have sex. No time for that when surviving was my biggest priority.” 

“That’s somewhat admirable, but there doesn’t need to be love in sex,” the last part is whispered, Otacon spitting out his gum into the crumpled wrapper and tossing it on the bedside table.

“You speak as if you’re experienced.” Otacon blinks, a sour taste forming in his throat. “Are you?”

“Er… That’s different…”

“How old were you when you lost your virginity?” The question is relatively innocent, though Otacon’s stomach flips and starts rising. 

“That’s a loaded question,” his voice wavers, even though he doesn’t want it to. “D-Do you mean the first time, or the second time?” Before Snake can respond, he’s on his feet, grabbing the trash can Otacon left on the side of the bed, and forcibly jutting it into Otacon’s lap, who immediately hurls before his body can process getting sick again. 

Sputtering, tears dampen his cheeks, coughing up anything he’s managed to stomach in the past hour or so that hasn’t already been thrown up. 

Snake awkwardly pats his head twice, then paces in and out of the bathroom while Otacon finishes dry heaving.

“I’m sorry,” Snake offers, replacing the can with a towel. “Take another shower. I’ll put this out.” Nodding, Otacon doesn’t acknowledge Snake’s hand, held out to help, and shuts himself in the bathroom again. Tying up the plastic bag and grabbing his pack of cigarettes, Snake tosses the bag in the hallway garbage can and takes the stairs back down.

* * *

When he returns, Otacon is out cold in bed, redressed in new clothes and with a damp washcloth on his head. Snake watches him for a moment, frowning to himself, then finds their map to plan out the rest of their drive and meeting point. He puts a new bag in the trash can, pulls off the top blanket from his bed and drapes it over Otacon, closing the blinds and pouring himself a shot of whiskey from the bottle he’d purchased earlier. 

With a sigh, he gets out his journal and starts scribbling in it, listening to Otacon mumble in his sleep beside him. Best case scenario, Otacon feels better later in the night, they can get on the road and drive through the night, taking turns sleeping in the car. Worst case scenario, Otacon is sick for longer than expected and throws a wrench in their plans. If he can't handle a clean dismembered hand, Snake's not so sure how well Otacon would do put in actual battle, but maybe it's good he's learning that early on. The most probable situation is they leave early in the morning, even if Snake has to load Otacon in the car like he did that morning. 

Unfortunately, Snake's not tired, it's still early in the afternoon and he's momentarily stagnant with his partner. Taking another shot, he decides this is the best he can do for now, turning the TV on very low and picking a movie to occupy his attention.


	6. VI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> should i mention there's nsfw content if it's not explicit whatsoever? because if so, there's a little at the very end.
> 
> here's a long chapter due to a semi-hiatus because of school.

Otacon's tossing and turning become Snake's white noise, staring at the ceiling with slow blinks, mentally running through his plans until they're imprinted on the back of his eyelids. It's when the shuffling of scratchy sheets subsides that Snake looks over, making direct eye contact with Otacon, who had been staring with exhausted eyes. 

"What time is it?" Snake looks over at the dull clock on the bedside table. 

"9:42."

"PM?" He blinks.

"Yes."

"Okay." Settling back into his mess of sheets, Otacon laces his fingers together on his chest and stares up to the ceiling. "Okay," he repeats to himself. 

Sitting up from bed, Snake starts lacing up his boots and looks over, expecting Otacon to do the same. 

"We're leaving?"

"Yes."

"Don't you want to rest?"

"Not necessary."

"Oh. Okay. Yeah." Throwing a jacket over his pajamas, Otacon shoves everything into his bag and slings it over his shoulders, then follows quietly behind while Snake returns the keys, inspects their car for any suspicious activity, then departs. 

"How are you feeling?" He asks, being courteous enough to not smoke in the car, even if his clothes reeked of it.

"Better. Sorry for everything."

"It's fine. Can you stomach anything?"

"Uh, maybe."

"Good. Let's get something to eat. You need meat on your bones." Frowning, Otacon keeps his comment to himself and looks out the window. "The stars are pretty."

Without a need to continue conversation, Snake keeps driving in silence, and doesn't tell Otacon to quiet when he starts talking about different constellations. He also doesn't mention how Otacon got one of it wrong, but focuses on reading signs as they pass in the night on back roads.

"Denny's?" Otacon asks, dumbfounded. Looking at Snake, he motions to the restaurant in front of him, still strapped into the passenger's seat. "_Denny's_?" 

"Yeah?" Killing the engine and throwing the driver's door open, he sits for a moment, giving Otacon a second to overcome his surprise. "Do you not like Denny's?"

"No, that's not it. Just doesn't seem like my first choice, I guess." With a shrug, Snake locks the car and starts truding towards the entrance. "Plus, I thought we were avoiding franchises?"

"Who gives a shit about Denny's," was what Snake says, snubbing out his cigarette and flicking it into a bush. "We're fine here."

* * *

Otacon tries his hardest not to seem as suspicious as he probably looks. Disheveled, having thrown up everything in his stomach then laying restlessly in a sweaty mess of a hotel bed before hitting the road again. Even Snake's attempt at casual screamed intimidating, and Otacon almost felt bad for the young, probably underpaid waitress who served them. If he had the extra cash, he would tip as much as he could, but everything had been used on pricey gas station drinks and the laundromat. Maybe he'd try to persuade Snake to be generous. 

"Get whatever you want," Snake states, Otacon still scanning the menu.

"Oh. Uh, I still need a minute."

"Of course," her smile is exhausted, but she still grins and turns. 

"Are you not hungry?"

"No, I am, I'm just not familiar with the menu." Nodding, Snake's fingers twitch on the tabletop, itching for a smoke. It's been getting worse, lately. Otacon probably doesn't have the right to tell him to cut back, but as partners... His health was important.

"You should cut back on cigarettes." A surprised blink, Snake's eyebrows raise slightly. He's not wearing his bandana, which would've definitely made him stick out more than he already does, but a beat up baseball cap. What an awkward looking civilian. 

"Yeah," he says, distracted. Otacon goes back to the menu.

By the time the waitress comes back, Snake's already on his third cup of coffee, a new pot on its way. Their meal is eaten in silence, listening to the sound of other human life that isn't after them. It's a little weird, like Otacon's ears are always tuned in to anything that's out of the ordinary, and he's sure Snake is like that constantly. Being in a Denny's, eating a late meal wasn't a spur of the moment kind of thing. Everything constantly felt like being in a Where's Waldo book, as if at any given moment someone will no longer see two men eating but two criminals and--

"Otacon." Whispered. He looks up, Snake staring at him with furrowed eyebrows. "Shut up."

"Huh?"

"You're thinking too loud. It's stressing me out. We're fine in here." Exhaling, Otacon nodded and poked back at his eggs. Runny yolk. Reminded him of vomit. He pushed those thoughts out and ground his teeth together. "_Otacon_."

"Sorry, sorry."

"Do you want a smoke?"

"No, don't push your habits onto me," he grumbles, sipping from a glass of water. "I'd rather keep my health, thank you very much."

"Suit yourself," Snake says with a little tension in his voice, which is to be expected. He stands, shoving his pack of cigarettes into his coat pocket and mumbles he's stepping out for a moment. Not really intending to, Otacon watches him leave, and notices a waitress watching as well, then whispers to her coworker, who starts laughing with her. It's a cute giggle, a cute smile. Hair pulled back into a short ponytail that juts out from the base of her skull, a little tattoo behind her ear. The longer he looks, he realizes she's now looking at him over her shoulder, her friend having pointed and whispered something. He casts his gaze away and stares at his cup of coffee, thick with sugar and in need of a refill.

When Snake returns, Otacon notes more giggles and he comes to the conclusion they were checking Snake out as he passed them. Of course. Super soldier, well-built, but all the comfort of a brick wall. Almost like a statue - good to look at and admire, but cold to the touch.

"Something wrong?"

"You smell."

"Hm."

"Was there anything else y'all needed?" Cute. Otacon looks up before Snake does, but her attention is directed to the other. This wasn't their weary-eyed waitress from early. Either the shift changed or this girl was absolutely _dying_ to talk to Snake. 

"The tab, please."

"No room for dessert?" Her hair was falling in her face, having taken out her ponytail, pushing it back with dainty fingers. "We've got a real mean apple pie." Her nails were a pastel pink with silver decals. 

"I think we're good." Without putting thought into it, Snake reaches up and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, touch gentle to her skin. "That's a cute little tattoo you've got, Katie. Do you like owls?" The tint of her cheeks almost matches and exceeds her nail color, putting her hand over her ear to cover her tattoo, like it was indecent to have been seen.

"I-I do! I've got a pet owl-- Well, it's a barn owl my brother found but it, uhm, it had babies and I got one of them-- His name is Hughie because it's like hoot, kinda, and--"

"Excuse me." Sliding himself out, Otacon made it way past the waitress and the others who were also ogling Snake and through the front doors, sitting off to the side on a rickety bench. 

"Don't mind him," Snake assures Katie, the tips of his fingers lingering on the back of her hand. "He's not feeling well. Can I get the tab so we can get back on the road?"

"Oh, oh-- It's on the house! Really! Go check if he's okay. Don't worry about any of this. Feel free to come back, uh--"

"Theodore." Standing up, grabbing his coat and shaking her hand with a smile, she all but melts.

"Have a good night, Teddy!" She coos, gathering his dishes to busy herself while Snake tipped her, the front jar and their original waitress for their hospitality and left.

Otacon was leaning against the driver's side door, arms folded and staring out to the horizon. Unlocking the car and passing the keys over, Otacon slid in and pulled them back to the road with no real destination in mind.

"What was that about?" He finally asked. 

"What?"

"Flirting with the waitress."

"Dinner was free."

"So you abuse your sex appeal for free food? I thought you would be better than that." 

"That wasn't necessarily the intention."

"But you knew what you were doing, right?" A beat of silence. Snake laughs, dry.

"Are you thinking that since I have no experience I shouldn't be good at flirting?" Otacon chews on his lips and frowns instead of answering. "Sweet talking is an important skill to know and know how to use."

"And yet you've never gotten laid." Exhaling out his nose, Snake turns to look out the window. 

"Is that something you're going to hold over my head? Or are you just in a bad mood because I got hit on and you didn't? We're already behind schedule, I don't have the patience for this little petty shit."

"Huey was my dad's name." Otacon's voice is small, but heavy. He swallows and keeps his eyes focused, but out of his peripheral he can see Snake try to connect the dots. 

"Hm." A solid 40 minutes pass before someone speaks again.

"Sorry. I know you talking about that was really personal and I shouldn't bring it up," Otacon apologized, not taking his eyes off of the empty road that stretches ahead of them.

"It's fine. Sorry you... were bothered by it." It's vague because he's sure Snake hasn't pieced it together, but the thought matters, Otacon supposes.

"Thanks." Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Snake extend his hand. Curiously, and with a small twinge of a smile, Otacon humors him and shakes.

"Truce?"

"Truce."

There wasn't anything remarkable playing on the radio that late, especially out in the middle of nowhere as they were. Eventually they settled for public radio, in which people read excerpts from their memoirs and told heartwarming or life-changing stories. 

"Can I ask you a question?" Snake was resting his head against the window, arms crossed and eyes closed, but Otacon knew he was still awake.

"Depends."

"Are you interested in losing your virginity?" Snorting, Snake shifted his shoulders and turned a little more towards the door. 

"Why, are you offering?"

"No, I don't want you to feel bad about being in yours 30's and still a virgin, you know?"

"Well, I didn't feel bad until you started making a big deal out of it. Are you not going to let it go?"

"Is that why you asked if I was gay?" 

"Otacon. Drop it."

"You said you've never been on a date, but you definitely know how to talk to people and use your sex appeal, so I guess I just don't get it?"

"Otacon."

"How are you not having sex like crazy? I'd imagine with your kind of metabolism and stamina you'd have absurd libido."

"Otacon!" Sitting up from his position and grabbing Otacon's forearm with an intense grip, he got the other to shut up enough to listen, albeit with a wince. "If you're that obsessed, then take it."

Staring at Snake's sullen eyes in the dark of the night in their car, Otacon blinked, mouth agape. "Huh?"

"If it'll make you feel better, you can take my virginity." It's said with such seriousness that Otacon can't process what exactly he's implying.

"Wait, no, that's not what I w--" Snake's hand moved from Otacon's arm and grabbed the steering wheel, Otacon impulsively slamming on the breaks while the other tried to steady them. Before Otacon can react he sees the movements of three deer jumping across the road, their engine rumbling loudly in their heavy silence. Once the coast is clear, Otacon puts the car in park and sits back.

"Thanks."

"Let's switch."

"Yeah." As soon as Snake takes seat behind the steering wheel he turns the brights on, which Otacon realizes he _should've_ had on, but Snake's reflexes were fast enough to stop them before they totaled their car and/or killed a deer. He couldn't handle Snake shooting a deer to put it out of its misery on top of everything else that has transpired recently.

"Should we stop soon?" Glancing over, Snake looks at Otacon before looking back on the road. They've only been driving again for a few hours, the sun wasn't up yet. 

"You can sleep in here, can't you?" Inhaling, Otacon chews on his bottom lip for a moment before responding with a noncommittal shrug. 

"Yeah," he says, rolling over and curling up, trying to get as comfortable as he could with the weight of everything on his mind. The topic was not mentioned again, even after Snake contacted their mysterious source in Missouri, arranged a new meeting place, dropping Otacon off at a condo as he shaved again, suited up and left. None of that was necessary, but in case something went wrong, Snake wouldn't just be in civilian clothes and could manage by himself.

For their first 'mission' together - if it could be called that - it went successfully, Snake coming back with a manilla envelope and take out boxes. It reminded Otacon of the dismembered hand they had in the car, but Snake assured him it was just paperwork and Chinese food. Reviewing while they ate, Otacon sketched out what they realized was a new development of Metal Gear; a rip off of his design, most definitely from Ocelot, being the only other survivor from Shadow Moses. 

"This isn't built well," Otacon said, pointing at a paper of his mockup blueprint with the clean end of a chopstick. "As an actual bipedal machine, maybe, but for a Metal Gear? Probably couldn't stand on its own for too long, let alone carry a nuke. Would probably need to be piloted."

"It's good we can stop it before they fully develop it, right?"

"Yeah. Any other leads?"

"Not so far. I think it's also in part hunting down Ocelot. So far we've only got..." Looking over at Otacon, he raises his eyebrows a little to imply a _you know_. "And it'd be pretty damn hard to get DNA testing on that."

"But you got it somehow, right? Couldn't that source have done something? How can we even guarantee that is Ocelot?"

"I was there. I think I could recognize it."

"You couldn't recognize your former drill sergeant was your twin brother," Otacon mumbles, then shoves too many noodles in his mouth to try and clarify himself. The words hang between them, but it's not necessarily a hostile type of silence - just something that exists. Snake speaks again.

"So far my hunches have been working out. We should lay low 'til something new comes up."

"Do you know anything to do in Missouri?" Shrugging, Snake makes a mental note to pick up a map as soon as he could.

"I guess it's just me and you now, huh?" Setting his chopsticks down, Otacon wipes his mouth his a napkin and idly picks at his teeth. When he looks over, Snake is staring intently at his mouth, almost subconsciously, and Hal pulls his fingers away and clears his throat. "I think I'm gonna shower and go to bed."

"Okay." Hair still a little damp from his own shower, Snake's hair is pulled back into a real loose ponytail, donning a t-shirt and shorts, the both of them needing to do laundry. Throwing away his trash, Otacon stops in the doorway to the bathroom, looking off at nothing in particular into the bathroom.

"Snake?" He asks, softly. 

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember what we talked about in the car?"

"Yeah."

"Did you mean that, or was just to shut me up?"

"Well... I guess that depends. What do you think?"

Hesitating for longer than necessary, Otacon takes in a deep enough breath it straightens his posture.

"Both," he says with a sense of finality in his voice, then closes the door behind him.

Running the shower cold, he stands under the stream and almost desperate masturbates, just needing some release to calm his frantic anxiety. _Why the _fuck_ did I ask that. Why can't I just shut up. _Why did Snake even offer it? He was being annoying by talking about it so often. It was none of his goddamn business, yet... Yet... Yet it intrigued him so much. Was it some animalistic urge to want to deflower Snake? Because he had his own virginity taken away from him? Revenge for Julie? _No, stop, don't think about Julie. Stop thinking about Snake. Shut up for once in your life, Hal. Try to be normal. _

Snake knocked quietly, Otacon freezing and going to shampoo his hair with frantic motions. Hopefully this curtain was thick enough his half-hard erection wouldn't be noticeable. 

"I'm going out. I'll get your glasses fixed while I'm out."

"Okay," Otacon said, loud enough to be heard over the water but possibly too loud. Straining his ears to listen to the door to the exterior room close, he continued his business and tried to block out any thoughts besides his hands on himself and the water cocooning him. In the end, he didn't cum and went to bed feeling like he was dirtier than before. He barely registered Snake returning, but soon after the door to his own room closed and Otacon went to sleep, briefly wondering if Snake had also jacked off to alleviate the same tension. Did he even jack off? Oh my God, shut up. Go to bed. 

And he forced himself to sleep, at least a little relieved he was out of the car for an indefinite time and in an actual bed to sleep in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is small but i changed their newest hideout to a condo instead of a hotel


	7. VII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ruh roh.

Otacon wakes up just after 10, unfamiliar with the bed he's in. Patting his hand around the bedside dresser, he searches for his glasses, surprised when he's not met with the touch of the uncomfortable scotch tape holding it together. Oh, that's right -- Snake got him new glasses. There was no reason for him to do so. Especially after he made that comment about taking his virginity. What the _ fuck _ was that about, anyways? 

The metal is cold on his skin, but Otacon wraps the blanket around himself and steps into the rest of the area. For a condo, it's nice. Better than the apartment he had after college. With his elbows propped up, Snake is seated on the floor in front of the coffee table, a bottle-shaped paper bag to his side with the Metal Gear prints in front of him. Hesitantly, Otacon approaches, clearing his throat to not alert the other. 

"Anything new?"

"No." The conversation ends just like that. Double checking his watch, Otacon confirms it's still the morning. He can't even detect the smell of coffee to go with the liquor, and Otacon subconsciously exhales, to which Snake turns the papers over and lolls his head back, resting on the couch cushions. Blinking slowly twice at Otacon, he opens his mouth, then shuts it. Had Otacon been asleep for a long time? Snake had shaven yesterday, but the scruff around his jaw looked like it's been growing longer than 24 hours. Scruff toppled with exhausted eyes and the bitter smell of alcohol compliments the sitting, solid heap of muscle mass on the carpeting, staring blank-faced at Otacon.

"Otacon," he says: stops, raises his head upright, clears his throat and cocks his head to the side, bangs falling in his face. "_Hal_," he tries again, the slightest hint of a slur in his voice. 

"Y-Yeah?" His voice cracks as a chill goes up his spine. Very slowly, Snake turns, sitting sideways with his arm resting over the sofa. His knee hits the table with no response from him, but the bottle topples over with ease, silently. Must be empty. 

"Will you fuck me?" Whatever frail thread that connected Otacon’s thoughts to his vocal chords completely snaps as he stands, momentarily frozen, babbling for a response.

“_You’re drunk!_” comes his retort, a heat filling his cheeks.

“And?”

“If you’re drunk, th-then you can’t fully consent.” 

“And?”

“And that’s a big issue!”

“And?” _ Okay, Snake is definitely just egging me on. He’s _smirking!

“Are you listening to what I’m saying?”

“Sure. But you haven’t said yes or no.”

“It’s a no!”

“Why?” Running his fingers through his hair and getting his knuckles stuck in tangles, Otacon takes a moment to articulate a response.

“I don’t get it,” he mutters between his teeth. Snake has shifted up to the seat cushions, watching Otacon from over the top of the couch.

“Get what?” He draws out lazily.

“It’s like you don’t want anything to do with me just last week, and… And suddenly now you’re obsessed with me. Why?”

“I love you.” The tips of Snake’s ears are red, his face tucked abashedly in the crook of his elbow with his headband falling over his shoulder. Subconsciously, Otacon starts wringing his hands, grinding his teeth in an attempt to ground himself.

“No, you don’t,” he whispers.

“Yes, I do. I just didn’t know how to say it, but you started--”

“_I_didn’t start anything - and _ you _don't know anything.” Slowly turning upwards, the tops of Snake’s eyelids peek over his arm. His eyes are horridly bloodshot. “You… You’re just confused. You’re just some horny middle-aged guy with misplaced hormones.”

“And you know _ so _ much more about love and sex than I do? You’re just _ brimmed _ with experience, huh?” Albeit with a slight slur, Snake’s voice drips with sarcasm, a dark mix of nothing but trouble that Otacon can’t help but spark a light to.

“Don’t compare my experience to yours. You can’t just throw away your virginity like it’s not something of value!”

“You’re the one who started pryin’ ‘bout it,” Snake grumbles, moving to stand with a grip firm to steady himself. In response, Otacon sniffles, which he immediately views it as a sign of defeat.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” With his hypothetical tail between his legs, Otacon begins to shrink in on himself, fully aware he was in the wrong in the entire situation.

“No, I’m sorry. I love you, Hal.”

“Stop saying that. You don’t know what love is.” Peering up behind his glasses, Otacon can see Snake has a very focused look in his eyes, as if he was taking in the information from a debriefing. _ A lesson in etiquette and human relationships_, he supposes.

“But what if I do?”

“It’s not even 11, Snake, why were you drinking? I can smell you from here.” Taking half a step back, Hal straightens his posture a little. “Is this typically how you celebrate after a mission?”

“I couldn’t sleep last night. Thinking too much. Was hoping to go to bed before you woke up, but you’re earlier than usual.” Unable to stop himself from his rolling eyes, Otacon thinks about how 10 is still relatively late to sleep in until, but out of his peripheral vision he can see Snake is still studying him, making him feel unbearably vulnerable. 

“Go to bed.” 

“Mm.” Also seeming to throw the towel, Snake began to slink away towards his bedroom, before stopping and pressing his shoulder against the wallpaper. “Do you want to stay here, or should we leave again?”

“Are we in danger?”

“No…” and that was that, Snake not closing the door all the way before Otacon can hear the other throw himself onto the bed. 

“Otacon?” He asks a moment later, voice mumbled. Approaching the doorway, Otacon can see he’s laying face-down into a pillow. “Can I have a goodnight kiss?” 

Wordlessly closing the door, Hal goes to throw away the bottle and start brewing a pot of coffee.

* * *

Snake doesn’t get out of bed for the rest of the day, Otacon cracking the door open to see if he’s still alive on his own way to bed. At some point, Snake had stripped out of his baggy sweatpants and t-shirt, sheets strewn across him, and snoring. Crossing his arms, Otacon studies him for a moment before closing the door and triple checking the front door is locked. He’d gone out, went to a little deli and bought ham, bread, milk and pop; enough for Snake to be able to make his own meal whenever he _ did _ get out of bed. 

Climbing into bed, Otacon settles beneath the sheets and stares idly at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts.

_ Realistically, I would have to bottom. Snake is much bigger than I am and it might just be easier that way. Unless he thinks to lose your virginity, you have to be penetrated. _ Otacon frowns and scrunches his nose. _ What is wrong with him? _

About 20 minutes later, he can hear Snake bustle about, his shadow stretching across the lit hallway. At least he’s gotten over his need for being in complete stealth mode all the time. The tap in the bathroom runs for several minutes straight, only interrupted by the toilet flushing a couple times, then the shower runs and Otacon falls asleep, only vaguely registering Snake humming from beneath the water. 

There is a quiet, almost undetectable knock that wakes Otacon at some point later, but he can tell it’s still nighttime. The figure at his door hesitates, walks away, then slides a piece of paper under the frame before departing once more. As much as it tempts him, the warmth of bed wins the battle against his curiosity, the younger man falling back asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this quarantine shit sucks. hope y'all are staying safe.


	8. VIII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is long (ish) and VERY dialogue heavy. sorry

Coffee, ham omelettes and toast sit at the kitchen table when Otacon steps out from the bathroom, hair damp and pajamas thrown back on. Snake is nowhere to be seen, but the food is warm and Otacon takes a piece of toast with him to finish getting dressed. Halfway through his meal does Snake return, smelling heavily of cigarettes with cheap cologne to cover it. He looks at Otacon, then goes to brush his teeth.

“You’d smell better without the cologne,” Otacon calls before the door closes, which Snake does not reply to. 

“How’s breakfast?” He asks instead, staying several feet away from Otacon while he eats. 

“Good. Thanks.” 

“Sorry.” Finishing his coffee, Otacon carefully sets it down and folds his hands over his toes, knees tucked up to his chin. Even though he should, he doesn’t ask Snake to specify what he was apologizing for. He knew it wasn’t about breakfast but he did not want to delve into a conversation about anything, really. 

“I got a paper,” Snake says, also seeming to understand there was not going to be a continuation from his statement. “Nothing new.”

“Mm.” Climbing down from his seat, Otacon washes his plate and pours another cup of coffee, taking the newspaper from where Snake had left it on the counter and flipping through it. 

“I’m guessing you didn’t see my note then, huh?” Looking up, Otacon scrunches his eyebrows together in thought. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I also got a tourist map, if you wanted to do anything while we’re here.” Apparently that was also a conversation they were ending then.

“Okay. I’ll look at it later.” 

“Otacon,” Snake says suddenly with a sigh, an exasperated look in his eyes with dark bags sitting on his cheeks. “Can we talk?”

“Depends,” Otacon says, somewhat bitterly. “About what?” Exhaling through his nose, Snake seats himself on the kitchen counter, Otacon curled up in a chair. With a vague hand wave, the former motions between the two of them.

“Us?”

“In what way? We’re currently two guys in a Missourian condo with a dismembered hand in our possession and blueprints for a nuke-wielding bipedal robot I initially designed and you destroyed that we’re trying to stop from being mass-produced.” With his new glasses, Otacon can see Snake clenching his jaw before he opens his mouth to speak.

“I know. But I mean _ us _ us.”

“There’s nothing to _ us_,” he says flatly. 

“Why?”

“Why should there be? Do you have such a hyperactive libido that you can only think with your dick?”

“We both know that’s not true. Are you afraid of relationships?” 

“Considering you _ shot _ the last person I loved in front of me, I’d say I’m a little hesitant.” 

“She was a terrorist, Otacon. She _ wanted _ to die.”

“Pretty sure _ we’re _ terrorists now. Wolf was nice to me, she understood me.”

“Did you actually love her though?”

“What are you trying to imply? What do _you_ know about love?”

“I think you have to allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of someone if you really trust and love them.”

“And you think just because of what we’ve gone through that means we love each other?”

“I do.” Opening and closing his mouth, Otacon stares, blank-eyed at Snake’s simple response. 

“What?”

“Would you have ever shown any of these sides of yourself to anyone else? To Wolf?”

“No, but that doesn’t change anything. I wouldn’t want to throw up in a car with anyone, period. I just _happened_ to be with you.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Regret throwing up? Yeah. What are you talking about?” 

“I meant if you regret showing that vulnerability to me.” Hesitating, Otacon fingers the corner of the newspaper. 

“Maybe if they were under different circumstances it wouldn’t seem as shitty as it is.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Otacon.” With a sigh, Otacon sits in silence while Snake drinks from a glass of water. Breakfasts always feel unnecessarily hostile. 

“Everything has been so… New to me. Driving all the time, sleeping in the car, rendezvousing to get dismembered hands - all of this from the passenger’s seat. And on top of that, all of this tension between us.”

“Yeah. Feels like one step forward, two steps back daily.”

“Maybe we’re just not compatible.” 

“I wouldn’t say that. Like you said, everything’s just new. You aren’t used to this lifestyle yet.”

“And I don’t want to quit. I want to hunt down Metal Gears with you and put an end to my cursed family’s history of building nuclear machines. We can _ and _ will do this, together. It’s just been a hell of a week.”

Nodding, the two of them sit quietly, tension having lifted noticeably so. 

“But,” Otacon begins, “I also think right now we need to get out of each other’s hair.” Raising an eyebrow, Snake waits for Otacon to continue. “Maybe not being together in a confined space will stop these little squabbles.”

“Or we could just talk it out,” Snake offers. “Get everything off our chests and _ then _ take a break. Otherwise we’ll just mope and not get anywhere.” Chewing at the skin around his nails, Otacon nods, knowing very well Snake was right. Almost as if he knew Otacon more than he knew himself. 

“Then… Let’s talk. About what?” Snake shrugs. “That’s not very helpful.”

“Yesterday.”

“Okay. What about it?”

“Sorry about the things I said, for the drinking. I’ve also been having a hell of a week.”

“I’m sorry about what I said.” With some form of a smile, Snake’s tense body language eases, reclining on the counter. 

“That’s one thing out of the way.”

“What else?” He knew very well what the biggest conflict was, which he also knew was mainly his fault for making it as big of a deal as it had become. He had apologized for it, but it was still very much so present. 

“This chair is uncomfortable,” Otacon announces, momentarily postponing their real discussion, standing up with a complaint from his knees. Moving to the couch, he lays down, sets his glasses on the coffee table and throws his arm over his eyes to avoid eye contact. When he doesn’t hear Snake follow him, he assumes he’s still in the kitchen, so he raises his voice a tad.

"Hypothetically speaking..."

"Okay?" Snake pries, eating another piece of toast.

"About, uh... That thing we keep discussing."

"Okay."

"I would _ not _ want to have sex with you just for the sake of taking your virginity. I think, despite age, it's an important thing that you shouldn't throw away just because."

"Is that what happened? Is that why y--"

"What happened to me doesn't matter," Otacon quickly interrupts, voice rigid. "But yes, I guess I was careless. Didn't understand what it meant at the time."

"Hm."

"So... No, I don't want to have sex with you just to _ have sex _with you."

"But that's your belief on sex."

"It's a two-way street, Snake. We aren't going to have sex if one of us doesn't. It... It doesn't work like that."

"You started this off with a hypothetical. Is there more?" Exhaling loudly, Otacon rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms.

"No."

"Then I'll ask a question. Under what circumstances would you want to have sex with me?"

Sitting up, Otacon looks over at Snake and blinks. Furrowing his eyebrows, he closes his eyes and lays back down.

"...I don't know."

"I believe there should be love in sex. Wouldn't you say the same?"

"Not necessarily."

"So then, why not?"

"There's a difference between being with a woman and being with a man."

"I wouldn't know."

"Snake..."

"I'm not going to make you do anything if you don't want to. But I think I'd rather it be you than anyone else. I trust you with this, Otacon."

"Are you suggesting that we should... Date, or something?"

"That's a start, isn't it?"

"I think we've been through a lot of shit already," Otacon laughs wearily, "the idea of dating you seems unreal."

"Hm."

"Plus, what kind of a boyfriend pulls a gun on me when I'm changing?"

"Are you still mad about that?"

"A little bit!"

"Well, Otacon, I promise I'll be a better boyfriend from now on."

"Oh my God," groaning and covering his face with both hands, Otacon’s face heats up. "Don't say things like that, it's embarrassing."

"So... Uh, are we dating?"

"What, are you waiting to update your Facebook status?"

"No, I was just wondering."

"Let's just... Test the waters, I guess." Otacon sits back up, wearing an empathetic expression. "And if there's ever anything you don't want to do or want to talk about, let me know. Communication is key."

"Okay. Got it." Pause. "Hey, Otacon?"

"What's up?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"We've only been dating for a few minutes, Snake! You can't kiss people like that!"

"How about in ten minutes?"

Scoffing, Otacon looks over at Snake.

"I feel like I'm in a slice-of-life anime gone wrong. I started dating my super-soldier clone roommate."

Snake smiles and stretches, getting down from the counter.

“Glad to be dating my nerdy roommate-slash-business partner.”

“Should we still take that break?”

“Do you want to?”

“If you’re going to be clingy, maybe.” 

“No promises.” With a small laugh, Otacon swings his legs around the couch and pops his neck. “At least we have our own rooms this time.”

“Yeah, thank God. Couches are really uncomfortable. I already want to go back to bed.”

“Nothing’s stopping you. We’ve got an open schedule until something new pops up.”

“Mm,” yawning, Otacon stands, his back popping with a stretch. “I haven’t had the chance to set up all the computers yet. I’ll do that later. Depends on what the wifi’s like here.”

“Can’t you hack into it?”

“Again, that depends. We might need to buy some new equipment.”

“I’ll check things out. I’m thinking of going for another run.”

“Okay. Call if you need anything, but I might be asleep.”

“Got it. And, hey, Otacon?”

“Hm?” Already on his way down the hall to his bedroom, Snake’s sitting on the arm of the couch, tying his shoes. 

“One request.”

“Shoot.”

“Can I give you a goodnight kiss?”

“Has it been ten minutes?” He laughs, crossing his arms across his chest. “Don’t tell me I have to teach you how to _ kiss_.”

“I’ve kissed before,” Snake says, boasting out his chest, as if offended at the accusation. When Otacon gives him a quizzical look, he explains “we experimented in the service. Isolation from society can make people very lonely.” Rolling his eyes, Otacon thinks it over for a moment, humming thoughtfully.

“Just _ one_,” he says, holding up a single finger. “Then I’m going to bed.”

Inhaling deeply, Snake starts stalking down the hall on his toes, eyes focused on the space behind Otacon to not intimidate him by making direct eye contact. Standing in front of him, it dawns on him how they’re almost the same height, but Otacon still tilts his head up just slightly. Gingerly placing both of his rough hands on the other’s scruffy cheeks, Snake notices Otacon cringe, barely noticeable if not for their close proximity.

“Is this okay?” Snake whispers, breath of coffee with hints of cigarettes. 

“Yes,” Otacon answers, eyes closed with eyebrows pinched together. Unsure.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” it’s said after a moment of hesitation. Snake waits, Otacon opening his eyes halfway to see Snake’s flustered cheeks. “Are you okay?”

“Nervous,” he says in a voice so soft it’s barely heard.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” cupping one hand over Snake’s, he smiles gently. “It’s still only day one.” 

“I want to,” he swallows audibly. “But I don’t know if you do.”

“Do it before I change my mind.”

“It’s a two-way street, Otac--” pushing for the extra few inches, Otacon presses their lips together, albeit a little sloppy. Snake makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat, hands sliding to the back of Otacon’s neck while Otacon’s hands go for Snake’s shoulders. He pulls back for a moment, licks his chapped lips and goes back in, hungry, desperate. He can’t bear himself to look at the expression Snake must be making, just keeps pushing for more until he feels Snake’s back and heels hit the wall. Feverishly, his tongue prods at Snake’s lips, which are resistant to entry. Finally peeking up through his eyelashes, he sees Snake is staring wide-eyed at him, trying to keep up. With a jolt, Otacon stops, slightly breathless and takes a step back. He had almost pinned Snake against the wall, who was red in the face and looked all but wrecked from making out.

“You know you’re supposed to close your eyes, right?” 

“I thought you said only one,” he says softly, in partial awe. 

“Was that too much?” Otacon asked, suddenly feeling that he must’ve come across much more aggressively than he thought. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Snake, I--”

“Oh my God, not at all. Don’t apologize. Can we do that again?”

Laughing, feeling relief wash over his body, Otacon shakes his head. 

“I’m going to take a nap. I’ll see you later, Snake.” Turning on his heel, Otacon closes his door and Snake slinks into the bathroom, unbuttoning his jeans and yanking them down to his mid-thigh, as well as his boxers and bracing himself with an arm against the wall, stroking himself to a quick completion with a tense jaw and grit teeth to try and muffle the noise. Cleaning up and washing his face with cold water, he stares at Otacon’s door for a moment before going back to his room and going for his journal. Writing down a quick note on a blank page, he rips it and slides in under the door, then grabs the keys to the condo and heads out, a grin on his face.

From where Otacon was collecting his thoughts by pacing, he sees the paper come through, as well as the old note. The one from last night reads ‘sorry’ and this one says ‘thank you’ in scribbled handwriting on ripped out pages from presumably the journal he keeps on him. Closing his eyes, Otacon tries to still his beating heart and lays down in bed, suddenly feeling like he’s missing something, sleeping in bed by himself. He pushes those thoughts aside and wills himself to take a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEHE........................... i've been on a roll with writing.
> 
> unfortunately, however........ it's still a slow burn. we've got a ways to go but! there's improvement. they don't break up or anything so i can assure you there's not angst... or at least, not a lot of it. lol
> 
> thank u for reading and good luck to everyone who's now taking online classes.


	9. IX.

When Snake returns, Otacon is sitting at the kitchen table, having been unable to sleep. Instead of a greeting, the two look at each other for a moment too long, Otacon being the first to break eye contact. 

“Are you hungry?” He asks, looking down to the crossword puzzle he’s close to finishing.

“After a shower.” Stripping off his shirt as he crosses the room, he ducks into the bathroom and the running water fills the otherwise motionless house. 

It’s a short shower, Snake quickly reappearing and sitting across from Otacon in a t-shirt and pair of boxers, watching him ponder over the page.

“_Beowulf_.”

“Huh?” Looking up, Otacon pushes his glasses up, pen in hand.

“15 down is _ Beowulf_.” Mouthing the prompt and counting off the boxes, Otacon nods to himself and fills it in. 

“Thanks.” 

“Have you ever read it?”

“In high school, maybe. Not a real big book reader anymore.”

“No?” Pulling another chair closer, Snake props his legs up and holds his chin in his palm. “I used to read a lot in my downtime but it all blurs together. Gave away a lot of my books to save space.”

“Ah.” 

“23 across is _ Watchmen_, also.” Counting the spaces, Otacon frowns.

“Too many letters.”

“Really? Damn.” Reclining and crossing his arms, Snake huffs. “That’s a good book.”

“You read comics?”

“There were always copies in the foster homes or older siblings had some hand-me-downs. Been a long time since I read that one, though.”

"I don't recall if I've read that one before."

"It's good. Next time we go out we should look for books." Humming, Otacon stares at the page in concentration.

Sniffling, Snake tries to break the newfound silence. "So, uh, lunch?"

"Oh. Yeah. What are you hungry for?" 

"What do we have?"

"Not much," Otacon admits, folding up the paper and setting it aside. "We could order delivery?" 

"Not a fan of people knowing our location." Nodding with a soundless _ah_, Otacon taps his fingers on the table and thinks. 

"I guess we could just go to the store, or pick something up for a temporary resolution. What do you want?" Snake shrugs.

"Anything."

"Anything?" Otacon repeats, then stops himself before prying. "You eat rations, you probably aren't picky." With a small laugh, Snake kicks the chair out of the way and flexes his knees. 

"They really aren't bad, you know. If anything, they're good for you. Shitty but nutritious." 

"That's almost an oxymoron," the younger quips, Snake shaking his head.

"Not really," he rebuttals. "I think celery tastes like shit, but it's good for you."

"It's actually not." Otacon informs, pushing his glasses up. "Well, celery isn't _bad_ for you, but it carries no real nutritional value. However, it's not too terrible with hummus."

"Yeah," after a pause, Snake nods, as if speaking to himself, "you strike me as the vegan type." Rollings his eyes, Otacon crosses his arms and sits back in his seat. 

"Is that a bad thing? I'm _not_, by the way."

"But it wouldn't surprise me. I don't think I've ever had hummus."

"I'll pick some up for you, then. As well as some celery."

"Didn't you just say it didn't have any nutritional value?" Frowning in a way almost similar to a pout, Snake laughs, reaching across the table and ruffles Otacon's mop of hair with an endearing grin. Trailing his hand down the side of Otacon's face, he cups his cheek, stubble rough. Repositioning the glasses frame with his thumb, Snake sits back and clears his throat.

"How are the glasses?" 

"Better than the other pair," taking them off and cleaning the lens with the hem of his shirt, Otacon focuses intently on his task.

“I’ve never been with another man,” Snake blurts suddenly, the other giving him a dubious look.

“I... Know?” 

“I just wanted to warn you,” he admits, Otacon’s lips turning up into a quizzical smirk.

“You didn’t have to tell me that, we’ve talked about it before.”

“Just don’t want to disappoint, I guess.”

“Oh, jeez,” Otacon pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales. “This is uncharacteristically thoughtful of you. Did you have an epiphany while you were out?”

“No,” Snake insists, though there’s a hint of insult in his tone. “I think it’s easier to talk to women and I didn’t want to be a bad boyfriend.” Folding his glasses and setting them on the table, Otacon folds his hands behind his head and pushes his face into the wood. 

“Don’t get sappy on me. I don’t want feelings to ruin this.”

“Aren’t feelings part of a relationship?” Tilting his head up to look at Snake, his expression is genuinely exposed, eyebrows knitted in confusion. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right. Just a little foreign to me.”

“You could say that again,” he tries to lighten the mood, Otacon pressing his cheek down and stares idly at his fingers. 

"Some Italian sounds good."

"For lunch?"

"Yeah."

"That's awfully romantic, Otacon." Snorting, he folds his arms and rests a little more comfortably against the table. 

"Then I guess I won't ask for wine, either."

"_And_ wine?" Whistling, Snake stands and searches for a phonebook. "Didn't know I was dating someone with such high standards."

"Oh, shut up," he mumbles, nuzzling against himself. "Let me know if you find anything."

* * *

Ordering Italian for lunch was a decision made on a whim, but they were both surprised to find as many Italian restaurants nearby as they did.

"Looks like we have plenty of other options if we don't like this place," Snake notes, pulling on his pair of worn boots. 

"Good to know." Arms loaded with laundry, Otacon's mission was to clean while Snake went out for food and other small necessities. The former tenants had left too many convenient belongings to be a coincidence, to which Snake assured he had connections. Located at the end of the complex, the nearest tenant was two buildings over, which was also strange to Otacon, but he dismissed it as a blessing.

He only had time to rotate the laundry once before Snake returned with two plastic carry-out sacks and a slim paper back with the neck rolled. 

"Oo la la," he hums, distributing the styrofoam containers across the kitchen table. "White?" Snake shrugged. "Did the maitre d' suggest this?" Another shrug with a hint of a smile, Snake sits and starts opening the boxes, deciding between the two of them what they want, though they ultimately decide to split most of it. Pouring the wine into two coffee mugs, they give cheers and begin to dig in.

"Wait, Otacon," Snake says suddenly, putting his fork down. Looking up, Otacon chews thoughtfully on a piece of chicken alfredo as Snake mulls over his words. "I forgot something." Expressing with his eyebrows that he's not quite following, Snake leans across the table and presses an uncoordinated kiss to the corner of Otacon's mouth, then sits back and ungracefully shovels pasta into his mouth. Swallowing and laughing, Otacon takes a sip to clear his throat before he talks.

"When did you forget that?" He teases, pointing his fork over to the other, who focuses at twirling noodles around his own utensil. "Before you left?" A nod. "Are you going to want a goodbye kiss every time, now?" A pause, then another nod, making Otacon laugh. "You can be cute sometimes, but you're still kind of a scary guy."

"Same to you, but geeky." Rolling his eyes in a jokingly taunting manner, they eat in content silence.

"I'm stuffed," comes an exhale, followed by the clink of silverware against an empty plate. Across from him, Snake is pouring himself another cup of wine, the bottle nearly empty.

"This was good."

"Very good. We'll have to get it again sometime." Otacon is the one to finish off the bottle, moving to put the dishes in the sink and clean up the table.

"I'll go check the laundry," the brunette announces, shuffling away without another word. Tying off the trash bag, Otacon slips on his sneakers and goes to take it to the dumpster when he notices another plastic bag by the front door. Nudging it open with the toe of his shoe, he can see some miscellaneous toiletries, including a set of razorheads, an extra toothbrush, deodorant, a box of condoms and a small bottle of lubricant. Exhaling loudly, Otacon shuts the door behind him and trudges down the steps to their front door, looping around the back for the dumpster and catching Snake on the veranda, cigarette in his mouth. Their eyes meet and before he can try and hide it, Snake offers a knowing nod, pulling another drag and putting it out. 

Snake is waiting at the front door, holding it open for Otacon, whose eyes quickly dart down to see the plastic bag is missing. He decides not to mention it, but Snake caught his glimpse and let out a small grunt.

"So you saw it, huh?" Kicking off his shoes, Otacon peels off his socks, balling them up and tossing them in the direction of his room, promptly washing his hands in the kitchen sink.

"I wasn't going to mention it," he begins, Snake rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Do you want to talk about it?" Turning off the faucet with his elbow, he dries his hands on a dishtowel discarded on the counter, then puts his hands in the pocket of his jeans.

"Not really," comes the honest answer. "Just figured... You know, _eventually_..."

"It doesn't work like that, we've talked about this."

"Just in case."

"Just in case," Otacon repeats, voice stern. 

"_But_," Snake begins, cut off by Otacon interjecting.

"So we kissed a little, that doesn't mean we're going to have sex right away."

"Did you not enjoy it?"

Otacon pauses, bunching the fabric of his pockets. "No, I did. Maybe a little too much."

"Yeah."

"But that doesn't mean we have to do it again right away."

"There's not much else to do. I won't force you into anything, but I'm just saying I'm not opposed. Not anything sexual, of course. Whatever you want."

"Is this you saying you want to make out again?" Nodding a little too eagerly, Otacon laughs despite himself, pushing up his glasses and thinking, forehead creased. 

"You know what, sure. You treated me out to a nice lunch, even humoring me in a drink. This is a _consensual_ thing, right?" Pointing a finger across the room to Snake, he makes an expression of almost confusion.

"Of course. You as well, right?" 

"Yeah. Was the laundry done?"

"Not yet, another 25 minutes since I last checked." 

"After the laundry's done I'd like to shower and change into something clean." With a nod, Snake decides not to note that from this part of the house they couldn't hear the dryer ding, hence the constant checking, unless Otacon was inviting him to his room--

"You look like you're seriously debating something," Otacon remarks, having moved from the kitchen to the sofa, turning on the TV and lowering the volume significantly low. Slowly approaching, Snake sits on the other half. "This is a pet peeve, but uh... I need background noise when getting intimate. Silence irks me." 

"Okay," Snake says, not really understanding but willing to compromise. He personally wanted to hear Otacon, but he beggars can't be choosers. 

For a moment longer than necessary, they sit without speaking, a rerun of Full House muted in the background. Laughing almost nervously, Otacon runs a hand through his hair and inches forward, knee bumping against Snake's.

"It's so weird, being so deliberate about these kinds of things." 

"But it's nice," Snake whispers, cautiously reaching his hand out to touch Otacon's knee, rubbing his thumb in a small circle. 

Taking in a larger than necessary inhale, Otacon closes the distance between them and presses his lips against Snake's, cupping his jaw to put them into a better angle. Pulling back to let out the breath, Snake's chest rumbles in a laugh. 

"You should take your glasses off." Grumbling something under his breath, Otacon slides them to the top of his head, then decides to set them on the coffee table. When he turned back around, Snake had shifted himself back against the arm of the couch, quietly inviting Otacon to straddle him. He hesitates, not quite willing to do so, which Snake detects and shuffles up to a more upright position, eyes apologetic. Crawling forward, Otacon still has to settle between Snake's legs, the small couch not the best for this type of activity, but Snake isn't pushy about it. Sliding his hands around the nape of his neck, Otacon is the first to make a move, Snake's lips wet and inviting.

There isn't much of a rhythm, inexperience very evident. Despite this, Snake allows Otacon to completely lead, trying to learn from his movements. It's an unfamiliar situation to both of them, though Snake finally begins to react positively, his hand moving from his shoulder and to his neck, trailing his finger around the area.

"Is this okay?" Words muttered against his lips, Otacon nods slowly, Snake's fingers entangling in the other's hair. Building fire, both of Otacon's hands move to hold his cheeks, breathing slightly uneven as he catches his breath. Kissing the corner of Snake's mouth, he moves to kiss along his jaw, pivoting his head back to reach his neck, his nails scratching at his scalp. Beneath his lips Otacon can feel Snake's pulse quicken, clenching his jaw to distract the sensation.

Experimentally, Snake slips his hands under Otacon's shirt, the cold skin of his back surprising him. Softly gasping at the sensation, Snake takes it as an okay to keep exploring, tracing longer the vertebrae of the lower portion of his spine. 

"Snake," he mumbles, nipping gently at the flesh of his neck, "you're so warm." Moving up, he takes the lobe of Snake ear between his teeth and sucks.

With a moan louder than intended, Snake hooks his knee around Otacon's thigh, pulling them flush together as he stutters another moan, canting his hips up. 

"_Fuck_," comes as a hiss between his teeth, Otacon's tongue tracing the shell of Snake's ear before biting harder, burning with more heat. Motioning for Otacon to let up, Snake captures his lips in a kiss, one hand holding his head and his other moving to cup his ass, asking again if it was okay, Otacon answering with another nod. Flexing his hand and squeezing, bringing out a soft moan by one, pursued by a growl from the other. 

"Otacon," whining, he attempts to pull them closed together, trying to get some relief from his very evident straining erection. "Fuck, Otacon, you feel so good--" 

Chuckling under his breath, Otacon pushes his hips forward in a slow, taunting roll. Snake tucks his head into the crook of Otacon's neck and grasps at Otacon's sides, huffing noisily through his nostrils as he chases his release. Stuttering his hips against Otacon's thigh, Snake stills and lets out a low groan from his throat, slowly releasing his hold, stroking gently at the skin he's gripped. Getting up onto his hands, Otacon stares with a flabbergasted expression. Hastily untangling himself from Snake, he stands and picks up his glasses.

"I think the laundry is done," Otacon says very abruptly, turning on his heel, departing from Snake and towards the laundry room. Laying spent alone on the couch, Snake looks up at the ceiling and recalls the events that had unfolded. At some point the TV had changed onto The Nanny, sitting up to watch and distract himself for the time being. 

Out of his peripheral he sees Otacon return, laundry basket in arms with a clean pair of clothes draped over one shoulder, towel over the other. Setting the basket by his door, he collects his clothes into his hands and observes Snake.

"Are you going to take a shower?" Trying to be as nonchalant as possible, Snake throws his arm over the back of the sofa and looks beyond Otacon's face, not quite ready to make eye contact.

"Uh, yeah..." very obviously distracted, Otacon takes a half step forward, craning his neck to look at something at Snake's side, expression blank. Having seemingly resolved whatever issue he was thinking, he takes his belongings and closes the bathroom door. 

Turning off the TV, Snake shuffles to his room and goes to change out of his now soiled boxers, irritated that all the laundry has been rotated and he's stuck with his mess until he gathers enough dirty clothes to warrant another laundry day. Ignoring that thought, he lays on his bed and goes for his journal, noting all the ripped out pages from writing to Otacon when he was unable to speak. Deciding to close it, he gets back to his feet and sneaks to the veranda once more for a peaceful cigarette and a moment to mentally scold himself. Dark clouds in the distance promise a storm, breathing in the chill air as the temperature begins to drop. Hopefully by tomorrow this will be a funny memory and they can go back to existing around each other. 

Inhaling a longer drag than he should, he mutters a sorrowful "yeah, right" through his exhale, snubbing out the cigarette and going to light another. However, he couldn't deny himself that it felt _really_ fucking good.

Thunder rumbled lowly in the distance and through the thin walls he could hear the water turn off, debating going back inside. Lost in his thoughts, he’s pulled back to reality when the patio door slides open, Otacon standing next to him with a noticeable difference, wet hair leaving damp spots on his shoulders. Looking out to the distance in silence, Otacon steps away to pull up a chair, dusting away cobwebs and a few scattered leaves, sitting with his hands folded across his stomach. Silent, distracted, contemplating. The suffocating tension drives Snake to withdraw from the scene.

"Snake," Otacon started, not moving his eyes from the distant scenery, Snake's hand frozen to the doorknob. "I just wanted to let you know I accidentally left a hickey on your ear." In a matter-of-fact tone, Otacon looks over through the corner of his eye, Snake's curiosity spiking. "Sorry."

"I'm also sorry." Acknowledging the statement with a small nod, Snake knows that doesn't really patch up the awkwardness, conversation seemingly over with those words. Back into the house, Snake immediately goes to the bathroom to check, his right earlobe already a wine color, no other noticeable marks present. 

Shaking his head in partial astonishment, Snake decides they both got a little ahead of themselves, brushing his teeth to dilute the cigarettes that sit heavily on his tongue.

Even as the rain began, Otacon said outside, covered by the awning, Snake debated telling him to come inside as to not catch a cold, but some reflection time was probably necessary. Doing what he knew best, Snake goes to his room and begins pushups, a routine to try and clear his mind, as well as work out any pent up energy he hasn't exhausted.


	10. X.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, thank you for reading this fic! life has become very busy and will be for some time, so updates will be a lot more spaced out for an indefinite time. sorry for the inconvenience.
> 
> this work will also start becoming more sexual as it concludes so i'll update the ratings/tags accordingly soon. however, there's nothing super explicit... _yet_.

Flickering lights and a loud clap of thunder spike Snake’s nerves, rolling out of bed and pushing aside the curtain to catch a glimpse outside before the rain blurs his vision. 

_ Otacon_. From the corner of the window he can see the shape of Otacon still lounging in the chair, almost as if stubbornly refusing to leave. Cautiously cracking the patio door, Snake watches for a moment.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks, pressing his forehead against the door frame.

“No,” Otacon insists, then involuntarily shivers, regardless.

“Come inside.” 

“I like storms.” Watching for a moment, the wind picks up and the rain begins hitting beneath the awning, barely touching Otacon but enough he definitely could feel the chill.

“You can watch it inside.” Exhaling through his nose, Snake slides the door further and steps onto the cold concrete, crossing his arms in an attempt to seem intimidating without coming across as _ too _scary. “I don’t want you to catch a cold.” A strike of lightning is followed by a thunderous roar so loud Otacon jumps, becoming Snake’s cue to lean over and pull Otacon up and over his shoulder, bringing him inside and setting him down on the couch with little grace.

“Have you lost weight?” Pushing back at the messy hair around his face, Snake studies him. “Your face looks thinner.”

“Probably,” shooing his hands away, Otacon shifts into a reasonably more comfortable position, drawing himself into a ball and adjusts his glasses. “I was sick for a couple days and it feels like today was the first full meal I’ve had in years.” 

“We’ll have to change that, then.” Padding over to the kitchen, Snake digs around the cabinets, Otacon hearing him fuss with the microwave before it starts its low hum, noise lost beneath the rumble of the rain. Before long Snake returns with two blankets, a bag of popcorn and a few bottled waters. Wordlessly handing over half of the items, Snake turns on the TV and flips through the cable channels, turning up the volume from it’s previous mute. 

“You don’t have to watch a movie with me, but I know you don’t like storms and thought I’d offer some company.” Eyes never leaving the screen, the only decent film is a blockbuster from a couple years ago that neither of them saw in theaters but knew reasonably enough about it. 

Sitting on opposite ends of the couch, they finish off the popcorn with ease and minimal contact, conversation slowly warming up when they both agree they were glad they ever paid to watch this in a theater. 

“I don’t even recognize half the actors,” Snake admits, playing with the plastic cap of an empty bottle. 

“You don’t know Mel Gibson?” Legs kicked onto the coffee table, Otacon looked over with his eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Which one is he?”

“The main guy!”

“Do you even remember his name?”

“Father.”

“He doesn’t go by that anymore.” Letting out a dramatic groan, Otacon turns his head and rests his cheek against the cushion, blanket pulled up to the middle of his chest, sitting on his hands to warm them. “It’s Graham.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Expression suddenly souring, Otacon buries his chin to his chest. “That was the name of my friend’s older brother. He was a real dickhead.”

“Hm.”

“When I stayed with them he always tried to give me the buddy-buddy, older-brother schtick but he was a college dropout trying to act nice to compensate. Wasn’t there very long, anyways, so it didn’t matter.” A heavy pause passed between them, the last of the rain trickling over the roof. “Can’t believe how long it’s been since then,” Otacon says, voice hard. As much as Snake wants to pry, he can tell the conversation isn’t meant to continue, and puts his attention back to the TV.

“I’m sorry,” his voice sounds distant, and out of Snake’s peripheral vision he can see Otacon has almost completely turned away, posture hunched. “Sorry,” he repeats after a not-so-hidden sniffle, and Snake’s hands clench the blanket thrown across his lap.

“It’s… Okay,” Snake tries, swallowing dryly. The storm may have passed but the air in the room felt just as thick. Another sniffle and Snake pulls his blanket back, reaching out then stopping. “Otacon,” cautiously, he drops his voice. “Can I touch you?” Nodding once, Snake gently puts his hand on Otacon’s shoulder, then lets its weight rest, thumb rubbing along the tense muscles beneath his shoulder blade. Breath hitching, he shows no agitation at the motion, Snake continuing and clearing his mind of what must be weighing Otacon down so much. A conversation for another day, if that day ever came.

“Snake, can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Do you remember what you said to me that morning you were drinking?” Nodding, then realizing Otacon wasn’t facing him, he made a noise of confirmation. “Can you say that again?”

Inhaling and trying to find the right tone of voice, Snake paused and asked a question himself; “Are you going to say it back?” Making no move to respond, Snake’s fingers spread in an attempt to work more of his muscles before swallowing any conflicting emotions.

“I love you.” The words feel heavy on his tongue. “I love you,” he repeats. Beneath his touch Otacon quivers slightly, more as he whispers it, continuing despite the knot deep in his stomach. A hauntingly loud shudder escapes Otacon and Snake puts his other hand on the opposing shoulder, gently nudging as a forewarning before pulling Otacon’s back to his chest, resting his cheek on top of his head in order to not look at the type of expression he may be making. Although still tense, the younger of the two seemed to melt a little to the touch, Snake’s hands hesitant in shifting from his shoulders, down his arms and taking the thin hands in his. They’re still cold, veiny with rough knuckles and Otacon pushes him away, burying his own hands under his knees, legs drawn up. Trying to readjust himself without disturbing Otacon too much, Snake drapes his arm across Otacon's chest, fingers rubbing at the fabric of his shirt just below his ribcage. 

"Your shirt's soft," he mumbles against the thick hair, still damp. Otacon's chest rumbles in response, then heaves in a hiccup and stills. "And your hair smells clean." Laying uselessly against the armrest, Snake moves his other hand to part Otacon's hair, fingering the curls carefully to not snag on a knot. 

"Are you afraid of storms? You said you liked them, but you didn't look like you were enjoying being out there." Snake pauses, lifts his head and tries to peer down at Otacon. "Do you not enjoy being here?" Wiping the fallen tears from Otacon's cheeks with the pad of his thumb, the younger offers no response, Snake letting his head lie back and closes his eyes. 

"I feel like we have this conversation every day - whether or not this is going to last. I want it to," with an uncomfortable exhale, Snake runs a hand down his face. "I want it to work out, whatever this is, and if it doesn't and we're just business partners, so be it. Relationships have never been my thing, and maybe I'm a little too old to try this out, but hell. Colonel forced me out of retirement, I think I should be able to call my own shots now, right? Here, with you."

"Are you proposing?" Otacon chuckles softly, turning his face up enough to look at Snake. "For a stoic super-soldier, you sure are chatty." 

"Hm." Carefully wiping away the last of his tears that clung to his eyelashes like dew, Snake removes Otacon's glasses and tilts his face closer. "I love you."

"Gah, you don't have to say that anymore."

"But I do." 

"Then keep it to yourself!" With a smile, Snake leans forward and kisses Otacon's chapped lips. Playfully swatting at the top of Snake's head, Otacon pushes himself up and wipes at his face with the sleeves of his shirt. "Don't kiss me, I probably look gross."

"You taste snotty." Pulling his face up from his fabric, now damp, Otacon passes Snake an offended look. 

"I _ know _that," he huffs, then finishes off one of his water bottles, slumps into his seat and grumbles about how crying has given him a headache.

"I think I have something for that." Moving to get up, Otacon puts his hands up defensively. "It's not another kiss, Otacon," he says with a laugh, shaking out his hands. "Unless you want another one that bad." Snake leaves after Otacon rolls his eyes, the TV turned off upon his return. Bearing two more waters, Snake turns off the lights in the house, handing Otacon a couple painkillers and a drink.

Back on the opposite sides of the couch, Snake drapes his arm along the top and taps his fingers on the cushion. The sound of each other breathing fills the calm night, lulling them into momentary silence.

“Snake,” Otacon starts, picking at the skin around his nail, then fails to complete his sentence.

“You can lay against me again, if you want,” the elder offers, Otacon sticking out his bottom lip in thought. It must not have been what he was thinking, but he shuffled over and curled against Snake’s side, ear over his heart. Letting out a relaxed exhale, Otacon closes his eyes and listens to the steady rhythm of Snake’s blood pumping, alive and warm.

“You smell like cigarettes,” he comments, continuing to say “it’s calming” before Snake could offer an apology. Instead his heartbeat picks up slightly, making Otacon smile.

“I think we can make this work. It’s a little strange for a lot of reasons, but I believe we can manage this. You did all _ that _at Shadow Moses, I don’t see why a relationship is impossible.”

“Thanks, Otacon.” A hand comes to push him up, Snake readjusting to pull Otacon flush to his chest again. “This is good.”

“Mm.” Rubbing his thumb along the nape of Otacon’s neck, they lay in silence, the steady drumming of a new rainfall hitting the windows. 

* * *

A hand curiously running along the inside seam of his jeans makes Snake jolt awake, Otacon immediately freezing and pulling his hand back.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stammers, sitting up to look at Snake, though the house has fallen into darkness. “I thought you were awake.”

“Must’ve fallen asleep,” Snake mumbles, rubbing at his eye with the heel of his palm. 

“Ah.” Moving to search for his glasses, Snake grabs Otacon’s wrist before quickly releasing it.

“You didn’t have to stop,” voice gentle, Otacon has a hard time gauging Snake’s expression. “Just surprised me, s’all.”

“I must’ve been doing it without thinking.” Snake hums with a somewhat dubious implication, but doesn’t pursue. “Did you… _ want _to continue?”

“Only if you do.” Setting his glasses back on the table, Otacon’s silhouette in the faint glow from the porch light shows him chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. 

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“Roger.” Laughing, Otacon shuffles to his previous position of lying at Snake’s side on the small couch, head on his shoulder. Slowly tracing his finger over Snake’s shirt, he can hear a very quiet “_oh_”, which he takes as a good reaction. Across his chest, crossing over the broad muscles of his pectoralis major, to the dip below it, then back up and circling curiously around a nipple, budded with arousal through the cotton. There’s a hitch of breath, otherwise silent. Otacon makes a mental note to explore that at another date, moving his index finger down the middle of his stomach. He can just faintly feel the remnants of battle, raised scars that cross his skin of different shapes and sizes, telling of different stories and experiences.

Continuing his blind exploration, Otacon reaches the hem of his jeans, walking his fingers down his thigh as far as his arm will reach. He can feel Snake make a quiet huff of frustration, deciding to then flatten his palm and rub small circles against his leg, seemingly giving Snake more satisfaction. Repeating the notion but squeezing at his muscles, he notices the slight shift of Snake’s hips facing him, desperate for touch. The sudden pride that he is making Snake feel needy floods his mind of any other insecurities, sliding his palm up to then cup the outline of Snake’s erection, drawing out a gasp from the virgin. 

“Otacon,” he mumbles, turning his head and licking his lips, “kiss me.” Obliging, Snake takes hold of Otacon’s scruffy cheek, pulling him close. 

Denim stiff and restraining, Otacon tauntingly circles around the button of his jeans, Snake nodding desperately into a kiss, opening his mouth in a whispered moan. Popping the button and sliding the zipper down, he can feel the heat through his briefs, pulsing and absurdly hard. Raking his stout nails along the length for longer than necessary through the open fly, Snake bites experimentally on Otacon’s bottom lip, slightly harder at the gasp he receives. 

“Snake,” he breathes, dipping the nail of his finger beneath the waistband, “may I?”

“_Please_,” Snake whines, helping Otacon tug down his briefs and jeans to his mid-thigh. Otacon immediately registers the clean shave of his pubic hair, outlining the dip of his hip bones and to his thighs, significantly hairier. 

“Oh,” is all Otacon can say after he brushes his fingertips against Snake’s bare cock. The latter tenses, Otacon backtracking, “no, it’s nothing bad - just surprised, is all.” Snake’s stomach flexes when he laughs, turning Otacon’s head to face him to kiss again.

Nimble fingers explore, attempting to envision what it looks like, but Snake’s curious tongue prodding at his lips temporarily stops those thoughts. After an achingly slow pace, Otacon’s fingers wrap around the length and press against the blood flow, Snake breaking the kiss to swallow a moan and rasp Otacon’s name before promptly ejaculating over his stomach and Otacon’s hand, who continues to partially stroke him through his abrupt orgasm.

A pause much longer than necessary passes before Snake inhales shakily, recovering from his release and letting out a brief, uncomfortable groan between his teeth. “Sorry,” Grumbling to mask his embarrassment, Snake motions for Otacon to sit up so he could pull his shirt off and clean them up as best as he could.

“Uh,” Otacon blurts, slightly dumbfounded. “Yeah, sure. S’no problem.” 

Taking Otacon’s soiled hand in his own, he wipes it clean before pressing a small kiss to his knuckles. For a beat they sit in silence, Snake being the first to speak again.

“Do you want me to return the favor...?”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary.” Without anything else to say, Otacon grabbed his glasses and tried to feel his way to the bathroom, Snake pulling up his bottoms and letting out a defeated exhale.

Flipping on the kitchen lights, Otacon thumbs through the pantry before settling on an apple and washing it off in the sink. Shuffling over with his arms across his chest, Snake watches, mulling over his words.

“Otacon—”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Seriously. It happens.” Staring down at his feet with something akin a smile on his lips, Otacon rolls the apple between his hands in thought. Pushing up his glasses, he looks up and gives a stiff nod in finality, then takes a bite into the green skin of the fruit.

“Okay,” Snake mumbles, balling up his shirt and ambling towards the bathroom, stopping before passing the doorway. “Goodnight, Otacon.”

“G’night, Snake.” 

Closing the door behind him, Snake splashes water over his face, dampens his shirt and wipes his stomach and hand of slick residue, and stares at his reflection. With a laugh, he tugs on his earlobe, red with passion. 

Tapping twice against the door, Snake cracks it open to see Otacon, cradling the apple with a singular bite taken out of it, standing in the hallway. 

“You forgot something.” Nudging the door open with his elbow, Otacon steps forward and delivers a brief kiss to Snake’s lips before pulling back, giving another vague nod and dips into his room, closing the door and ending the night at that.

Now that a majority of the tension has left his body, Snake brushes his teeth and turns in himself, staring aimlessly up at the ceiling before falling asleep listening to the chirping birds, enjoying the now still skies. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for any errors; i've noticed i haven't been doing well at double-checking everything. i had also intended to publish this earlier than 4am but i kept getting distracted so it was rushed a little towards the very end.
> 
> also, the movie they were half-watching is _signs_, which has freaked me out since i first saw it as a kid. i feel like they both believe in aliens but yadda yadda, there for the sake of a transition for a scenario that i made up, i just have a personal grudge against the film myself and it was time-period appropriate.


	11. XI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions about otacon's stepmother/canon typical background as well as otherwise sexual content with snake & otacon. this is a long update, hi

“How’s the laptop working?” Snake asks, elbows framing Otacon’s shoulder as he sits in an old desk chair.

“Shitty,” Otacon admits, demonstrating by circling with his finger on the trackpad, the cursor lagging behind. “But it’s fine for the time being. The internet’s a little slow because I’m pulling it from one of the other complexes, though that’s to be expected. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Did you find anything?”

“So far, no. I’ve mainly been trying to make sure I’ve got the right encryption programing so we don’t get traced back here.”

“Good.” Protruding a lighter from his pocket, Snake slips to the veranda, lighting a cigarette and staring out. It rained on and off for a few days, humidity lingering like a suffocating, damp fog. Exploring around town, they had found a cheap laptop, setting up some sort of station for Otacon to work with, though they were a little unsure of where to begin. 

Stopping himself after one cigarette and returning inside, Otacon had pushed his chair away from the desk, laptop screen dim as something loaded slowly.

“How were you making your connections prior to now?” With a shrug, Snake finishes a glass of water in one gulp.

“Different ways, typically via a middle man.”

“And how do you talk to your middle man?” 

“Burner phones, code words, you know.” 

“Spy shit,” Otacon concludes, Snake nodding in agreement.

“I haven’t heard anything recently, but I can try to contact someone if you want me to?” He offers.

“I know we’re just laying low for now and all, but I feel like we should be _ doing _something - working towards some bigger goal, not just sitting around, staring at a laggy computer.”

“I’ll make some calls, then.” Glancing towards a clock, Snake pauses. “He’d be asleep now. I’ll call tomorrow.”

“He’s not local?”

“The middle man’s not, no. A lot of my former missions came from my CO - be it Campbell or Big Boss-” a scowl crosses his face quickly, “but I had some solo missions for experience here and there formed some long-lasting bonds.” 

“What’s the name of your middle man?”

“He doesn’t have a name.” 

Otacon blinks. “Huh?”

“It’s not one guy, it’s a system. We call my guy T, nothing more. I’m pretty sure there’s more than one T but there’s the one I keep in contact with. It’s kind of hard to explain. Complex system.”

“Sounds like it.”

“So I’ll call tomorrow. Anything you want to ask?”

“We should do something with _ that _\- Ocelot’s arm.”

“I’m sure he can pull something up.”

“Good, because I hate checking the freezer and seeing it there.” With an agreeing grunt, Snake rinses his glass out and puts it on a towel to try. 

“Are you squeamish?” Snake asks suddenly, sticking his hands in his jean pockets and leaning against the fridge.

“Yeah?” Otacon replies, furrowing his brow. “Thought that was pretty obvious.”

“If you had to, would you know how to dress a bullet wound?” Staring blankly at Snake, Otacon tries to think of where this may be going before shaking his head. “Then I’ll show you.” With that, Snake disappears to his room, rummaging about and returning with a standard first aid kit, a little worse for wear after years of use. “It’s pretty easy once you remember, but I’d rather you know before than having to explain it to you in an emergency.” 

Standing from his chair, Otacon hesitantly makes his way over, watching Snake prop the box over and gaze amongst the contents.

“The procedure may vary on the type of wound, but the first course of action is to stop the bleeding. Apply pressure with whatever you have before they go into shock from blood loss.” Nodding slowly, Snake then takes out a roll of gauze, ointment, and a small suture kit, laying the items on the table for display. “Were I a little more fucked up, I would demonstrate with an actual wound, but I won’t do that to you.” Trying to offer a smile, Otacon can only shudder at how morbid that suggestion sounded. “Most of my gear is relatively bullet-proof, though nothing _ truly _is. I’ll try to spare you from fixing me up unless I can’t because I’m unconscious or severely injured.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Snake looks at Otacon, whose eyes are fixed on the table. 

“That’s horrible,” he mumbles.

“What’s the first step?”

“Stop the bleeding.”

“Right. If you don’t have anything immediately on hand, use the bandana. Part of the reason I keep it. Just tie it around the limb that’s injured.”

“Got it.”

“What do you think the next step is?”

“Extract the bullet?” Otacon guesses, genuinely unsure. This wasn’t something he knew anything about aside from any media he had consumed in the past, though he tried to separate the thought as those typically weren’t medically accurate. 

“No. Bullets aren't something you can just pluck out with your fingers and attempting to get at it with a knife can do more damage to the surrounding skin. Leave it in for now.”

“Okay, so what next?”

“Try to disinfect it, or clean it as best you can. If the skin is torn up, try to close it. We have bandages for that - butterfly stitches. Not really good in the long run, but in an emergency that'll be our best option, then actually sew it at home.”

“I see. I don’t think I could stomach pulling out a bullet but can _ maybe _stitch you up.”

“It’s not a maybe. It could be a life or death situation. You can get sick after.” Otacon nods, uncomfortable but wholly understanding. “Lastly, the ointment is for inflammation, but that can be dealt with once we’re to safety. Treat it like any other kind of wound. And these are only in the chance the bullet doesn’t go all the way through, explode beneath the skin, shatter any bones or pierce any organs, but I’m pretty good at not getting shot. At least, not fatally.”

“Mm.”

“I don’t have any now, but Celox-A is helpful for sealing the wound and helping to stop the bleeding, though that might be _ too _gross for you.” Otacon doesn’t even consider asking, taking that warning to avoid knowing. “In any other type of situation, what should be done is call 911 and go to an emergency room, but that’s out of the question for us.” Otacon swallows dryly. “So I want you to have a basic understanding before it gets to that point.”

“Okay.”

“Repeat the steps to me.”

“Stop the bleeding,” Snake nods. “Clean the wound, patch it up.”

“Those are the basics. It will need to be properly cared for but you need to remember those steps.”

“Making me feel sick just thinking about it.”

“You’ll get used to it,” comes the blunt response, Snake then setting his belongings back and closing up the first-aid kit, latch clicking loudly. 

"Is this prompted by anything?" 

"In the off chance T can set something up and we have a mission, I want to trust you can help if things go to shit."

"You can trust me, Snake." 

"Good." With a crooked smile, Snake hovers for a moment, as if there's something more he wants to say before slinking to his room, leaving Otacon to check the laptop again. 

* * *

“You’ve got something on your mind,” Otacon starts, chewing on a piece of celery. Despite the insistent mocking, Snake actually liked hummus, even if he bought the most bland flavor Otacon had yet to try. Made for a good idle snack. “What’s wrong?”

“I was thinking about something you said earlier.”

“And what was that?” Breaking off a piece and dipping it in the practically empty container, Snake lingers for a moment, postposing his answer. “Snake.”

“You said you thought we should be working towards something, not sitting around.”

“Certainly not eating hummus because there’s nothing good on TV.” Snake nods. “But you said you couldn’t get in touch with anyone today.”

“No, I did. While you were taking a shower.” Pausing mid chew, Otacon frowns, then lets his face relax. 

“And?”

“Said he knows a guy in Louisiana. Willing to meet Thursday.”

“So, we’re going to Louisiana?”

“I’m going - I don’t need you to come with.” Allow his face to remain in a frown, Otacon swallows and sits back.

“Wasn’t that the point of this?” Gesturing between them, Snake keeps a stern face.

“It’ll be quick, in and out.” 

“That’s no more than 12 hours away, Snake. Isn’t this a partnership?”

“I’ve pulled you through enough. I want to do this alone.” 

“Okay,” deciding not to argue, Otacon picks up where the conversation began; “so what does this have to do with sitting around?”

“Are you content being here?” 

“Better than constantly on the road, personally. This is a cute little place.”

“Are you sure you aren’t bored?”

“What, are you suggesting we relocate for a change of scenery? I know I said I wanted to _ do _ something but I’d take sitting on a couch with no interruptions over frontage roads and gas station dinners. Plus, I think we’ve been getting along better, wouldn’t you?” Picking up the fancy beer Snake had gotten as a treat, Otacon’s eyes drooped at the corner, somewhat sad. “Unless you’re using this as an excuse to get away.”

“No, not at all!” Snake closes his mouth quickly, stopping him from saying something he didn’t mean to say, then clearing his throat of those words. “I do think things have been going a lot smoother…”

“But?”

“But I don’t want to pull you into anything this serious just yet.” Realizing they had looped back into the conversation Otacon had already tried to avoid, he sighs accidentally. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. You work better alone, I get it.” Finishing off the hummus, Otacon goes to pitch it, Snake grabbing his arm on his way past.

“Don’t think I’m abandoning you.”

“You saying that makes me believe you are.”

“I’m not.”

“You don’t sound very sure.” Wiggling out of his grasp, Otacon throws the tub away and slowly returns, posture slightly more rigid. 

“One step forward.”

“Two steps back.” 

Despite being said with a somewhat joking tone, Snake and Otacon let the words sit, idly finishing off their beers in silence. 

“So when are you going to Louisiana?”

“Three days. I’ll probably leave at night, meet him in the morning.”

“Are you going to take the car or have some other arrangements been made?” 

“Little bit of both. Someone will drive it back, in case you need it while I’m gone.”

“Mm. Is he going to ask for a goodbye kiss, too?” 

“You don’t know if I was going to ask,” Snake says, matter-of-fact tone in his voice.

“You _ always _ ask.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No.”

“Is any of that a problem?” Making vague hand gestures, Otacon scrunches up his face in thought. “What’s the look for?”

“Just realized you’ve been behaving yourself.” Snorting deep in his throat, Snake reclines in his seat, watching the condensation pool around the bottom of the bottle.

“Last time was... kind of pathetic.” 

“It’s just inexperience,” Otacon shrugs. “If anything, you could say it’s flattering.” 

“Doesn’t help the embarrassment.” 

“It happens. Better to build up a tolerance now than later.” Peering over his glasses, Otacon gives Snake a look he can’t quite describe other than snarky. “Unless you’re always like this.”

“Guess we’ll have to find out.” Slightly surprised at the smooth transition, Otacon can’t help but laugh, posture slipping into something more natural.

“I’ll admit, that was good. You’ve got a talented tongue.” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Okay, nevermind, that one was bad.”

“You’re the one who said it.” A more comfortable beat of silence falls following Snake’s comment, Otacon moving to get the last two beer bottles to share. “Unless you’d like to find out?” Snake offers, quietly, once Otacon is out of view. 

“That, uh-” he swallows, audibly, “that might be a little too soon.”

“Do you not want me to return the favor?”

“That’s not really the issue.” Handing over a bottle, Otacon quickly glances down to see Snake is already noticeably tenting through his jeans; if Snake notices, he doesn’t comment. “That’s something we’ve yet to build up to - something that should occur naturally.” 

“Then,” turning in his seat, Snake carries a patient yet impatient look, “show me how to do it naturally.” Before he can say anything else, Otacon holds up his hand, palm facing Snake, stopping him. “I’m not drunk - I’d like to do this.”

“Okay,” he exhales, “good.” Motioning with his head towards the couch, Snake is the first to move, Otacon meeting him over there. Already having turned the TV on with the volume low, Snake remembered the little picky things his partner preferred, the notion making Otacon smile, somewhat fondly, in gratitude.

“Good boy,” he mumbles softly, Snake’s pupils widening in excitement. “Come here.” Motioning for Snake to come closer, he does so, straddling Otacon’s hips. Pulling him down into a much more coordinated kiss, the elder sighs peacefully, content. Curiously, Otacon peeks an eye open, Snake’s own scrunched together with such intense concentration that he has to hold back a laugh, instead passing it off as a soft moan, Snake immediately answering back with his own.

The kissing quickly develops from slow, warm movements to heated, almost needy and somewhat sloppy, hands roaming and touching. Otacon naturally leads, the first to touch skin. His fingers are cold on Snake’s stomach, though they warm by the time they reach his chest, thumb rubbing over a nipple, sending a shiver down Snake’s spine. Not quite sure if he’s to follow, Snake’s hands rest on Otacon’s shoulder, sometimes shifting to rub the base of his neck.

“You can touch me, you know,” he murmurs, Snake starting from the hem of Otacon’s shirt and upwards, though he avoids his nipples and just simply touches, mapping it out. Given the advantage of not having his back pressed against the sofa, Otacon slips his hands across Snake’s ass, squeezing gently, then dips his fingers into the waistband, teasing. 

“Yes,” Snake answers to Otacon’s unspoken question of _can I touch you?_ “Please.” With that, Otacon pops the button of his jeans, unzips them and pulls at the waistband of his briefs, causing the tip of his cock to peek out over the top. _ Cute_.

“What do you want me to do?” Otacon does ask, Snake half-shrugging. 

“Whatever you’re comfortable with, I guess.” Looking him dead in the eyes, Otacon holds up his hand again.

“Let me know if I do anything you don’t want me to do.” Nodding, Snake pulls off his shirt, pushing himself off Otacon’s lap to kick off his jeans, then lays down, elbows up, waiting. Sitting on his muscular thighs, Otacon leans forward to kiss, building up their passion immediately, then trails his kisses down. The hickey on Snake’s earlobe had faded, Otacon nipping with his teeth briefly before down his neck, to his collarbones, avoiding his chest hair and to his nipple, encircling with his tongue; Snake gasps, surprised, and bucks his hips up. Flicking his eyes up to check Snake’s expression and seeing his eyes closed but not uncomfortable, Otacon sits up and sets his glasses on the table, sliding himself down further on Snake’s legs, kissing down his abdomen and around his navel, hands grasping at his hips. 

“Sna—”

“_God, please_.” Chuckling, Otacon wets his lips and smiles at Snake.

“Okay,” he whispers. Pressing wet, open mouth kisses along Snake’s erection through his briefs, it twitches, Snake’s fists balled at his sides. Tentatively kissing much softer around the waistband, he pulls it down half an inch, waiting for Snake to tell him to continue or stop. With a hoarse, desperate _ yes _, Otacon continues lazily pulling the fabric down, kissing along the side of his dick, cheek just barely grazing. When Snake restrains himself from moving in any way to get further stimulation until the briefs are pulled all the way past his balls, Otacon murmurs “good boy,” breath ghosting over the heated flesh. In response, Snake whines quietly, but as soon as Otacon’s lips make contact in a careful kiss, Snake gasps, letting his voice out momentarily.

With taunting little kisses along the sides, down to the base and onto his thighs, he can see Snake’s muscles tense in anticipation, wound up when Otacon _ finally _ touches him.

Snake, surprisingly, was loud. It caught Otacon completely off guard, freezing and pulling up from where he had been holding the length upright, mouthing the base, pinching his eyebrows together. 

“Uh,” he starts, thoroughly surprised, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Snake groans, swallowing thickly, “sorry.”

“Is it good…?”

“God, yeah.” Cupping Otacon’s cheek, he smiles in a lopsided, almost comical way, and apologizes again. 

“Okay.” With more caution, Otacon resumes his action, licking slowly against his skin while holding firmly, giving a tentative stroke every so often. Beneath his half-lidded eyes he can see Snake, biting the meat of his thumb in an attempt to quiet himself. The fleeting, curious thought about what _ other _ kinds of noises Snake could make was dismissed when a low whine escaped between Snake’s clenched teeth, needy.

“Otacon,” he groans, hands almost frantically going to hold onto Otacon’s hair, though he was wary enough to not pull. “Please. I’m close.”

“Give me a heads up before you do,” Otacon informs; “don’t cum in my mouth.” After watching Snake nod rapidly with such intensity in his gaze, Otacon closes his eyes and covers the tip with his lips, swirling his tongue around the head. 

“Oh my _ God_,” Snake moans, back arching in an attempt to not buck into the warmth of Otacon’s mouth. Following a string of swears under his breath, he mutters an erratic “I’m gonna cum,” Otacon then pulling up and stroking him to completion, as quickly as it hits, Snake letting out a noise almost comparable to a scream. He cums in plentiful, thick ropes reaching as far as his clavicles, seemingly having not ejaculated in days. Giving a few more tentative strokes, Snake lets out a low whine of oversensitivity before Otacon releases him, sitting back on his heels.

Despite the very draining orgasm, Snake doesn’t go flaccid, staying reasonably hard, throwing his arm over his eyes to steady his breathing. Climbing off to go grab something to clean up with, Snake wipes himself down and awkwardly balls up the paper towels, throwing them over the back of the sofa. 

They sit in silence for a moment, the soft conversation of the television filling the spaces between Snake’s breathing, which evens out before he talks again.

“_Fuck_,” he groans, looking up at the ceiling to avoid eye contact. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Rubbing his thumbs against Snake’s hips, he waits a moment. “Do you want to continue?”

“Do you?” He asks, somewhat surprised. “That’s not a turn off or anything?”

“Like I said earlier, it’s kind of flattering.” Leaning back down and licking at the roof of his mouth, Snake immediately forgets his embarrassment and moans openly. 

“Would you, uh, like me to return the favor?” Snake asks, shuffling up on his elbows, forcing Otacon to sit upright. 

“You don’t have to.” 

“And if I want to?” Otacon makes eye contact, then quickly looks away. It would be the first time Snake would be the one pleasing him, and the idea was hard to imagine. “You don’t look like you want to.”

“No, it’s just… strange to think about.” 

“That went naturally, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah.”

“So then, let’s just see where this goes.” Though being seen naked wasn’t something he was relatively unfamiliar with, the context now made him feel far more exposed, Snake motioning for Otacon to get up so he could at least pull his briefs and shirt back on.

The two of them sit for a moment, looking at each other, waiting for someone to make a move.

“Do you want me to help you?” Otacon asks, quietly, as if they weren’t the only two in the house. “Walk you through it?”

“No, just… tell me if there’s anything you want me to do. Or don’t want me to do. And what feels good.” Pulling Otacon towards him with a little more force than necessary, he falls somewhat unceremoniously on top of Snake, though the scientist laughs it off, dismissively. He still leads the kissing at the beginning until Snake’s tongue begins poking experimentally, exploring, taking control. Being able to allow himself to submit made Otacon moan, which only further encouraged Snake. 

Tipping back, Otacon pulls the other on top of him, who kisses him with passion, feeling him up like a horny teenager on a couch. Well, that’s what he was, essentially; though he was in his mid-30s and a genetically engineered soldier.

“Are you making fun of me?” Snake accuses, judging by the smile that’s making it harder to kiss. 

“No,” Otacon replies, grinning wider, obviously guilty, and Snake decides to kiss the smirk off his face. Reaching behind him to pull one of Otacon’s legs around his hips, he watches his face to look for any discomfort, seeing none and grinds his erection against the inside of Otacon’s sweatpants. 

“Take your shirt off,” he orders gruffly, biting lightly at the flesh of Otacon’s neck. His breathing catches for a second, Snake then shuffling around to pull it off himself, Otacon instinctively covering himself with his arms. Before he can stop himself, Snake calls him cute, cupping his ribcage and stroking his thumb just below his areola, making Otacon shiver and gasp. Kissing along his jaw, one of Snake’s hands slid down, not quite having an understanding of foreplay and cupped Otacon’s erection, rubbing his palm against it, the younger squirming under him. Sinking his nails into Snake’s shoulders _ hard_, he makes a quiet, pleading gasp. Snake, taking the neediness as a good sign to continue, grasps and strokes, then somewhat awkwardly slips his fingers against Otacon’s waistband.

“Can I?” Turning his head against the sofa, Otacon nods, slowly, hesitantly. Snake waits, not confident in the response. “Otacon. Are you okay?” 

He nods again, not willing to talk but rather hiding, making himself small. 

“Otacon.”

“It’s fine,” he says with enough edge to his voice to almost ruin the mood. “It’s okay,” comes a softer response. “You can continue. I’m just… shy.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“Yeah.” Snake almost can’t hear him, and goes to rubbing small circles against Otacon’s ribs, skin covered in goosebumps. “Continue.” Focusing intently on gauging his reaction, Snake carefully rubs his hand against his erection, having softened noticeably, though it fills in his palm. The muscle of Otacon’s jaw pulses when he grinds his teeth, lips parting in a nonexistent noise when Snake slips his hand beneath his pants, palming lightly. Very hesitantly does Snake dip beneath his boxers to touch him, Otacon’s breath immediately hitching as he stills, quiet, frozen. Pulling off and sitting up, he takes Otacon’s jaw and faces him forward; his eyes are wide, scared, pale, like a captured animal, looking for a way out.

“Shh,” Snake whispered, pulling Otacon up into a sort of embrace. “It’s okay.” Trying to ease tense, rigid muscles, Snake listened to Otacon’s shallow breathing, stuttering inaudible words. “It’s okay.”

“I—” his attempt to speak was silenced by Snake’s murmurs, cut off by a choked sob.

“You don’t have to say anything.” At that, Otacon’s hands grasps on the back of Snake’s shirt, desperate, as if his life depended on it. No matter how hard he fisted at it, he never seemed to get enough purchase; never felt grounded enough. His breathing picked up - like he was drowning, pulling his face against Snake’s chest.

Grasp firm but comforting on his shoulders, Snake slowly slid down to his knees onto the carpet, encouraging Otacon to join him on the floor, laying him down on their sides with Otacon’s grip still tight on his shirt. They lay silently; Snake rubbed an open palm between Otacon’s shoulder blades as the latter continued to paw at him, as if there was an urgency for something he couldn’t obtain.

A panic attack was something Snake had only witnessed once - his reflection of a dirty mirror in a gas station bathroom stared helplessly back at him and the only thing he could do was shatter that pitiful look. Punching Otacon wasn’t his first reaction - nor would it ever be - but all he could think to do was hold him and murmur. He had personally never had anyone he trusted enough to console him in a vulnerable time, but when he felt Otacon tense beneath him he knew he had to do something, anything to calm him.

“What do you need?” Snake asked as gently as he could, voice deep and chest warm. Hands no longer as frantic, Otacon was simply bunching up the fabric, splaying his fingers when he released, then balling up again. His breathing had also reasonably calmed, though he hiccuped about every other breath to stop himself from crying.

Carefully pushing at Snake’s chest, Otacon laid him on his back and shimmied up against him, pressing his ear over Snake’s steady heartbeat. They lay in silence, Snake focusing on Otacon’s breathing and the fingers that toyed with the fabric of his shirt while Otacon listened to the rhythmic pumping of his heart, the faint smell of sweat comforting and almost intoxicating in the moment - grounding.

“I’m sorry.” Otacon broke the silence first and Snake almost wouldn’t have caught it if he didn’t feel Otacon’s jaw move against his chest. There was nothing else to follow that, just closed his eyes and breathed.

_ It’s okay. I know. _ Picking up one of Otacon’s restless hands, he intertwined their fingers and gave a comforting squeeze, Otacon then tucking their hands beneath his cheek, breath ghosting their knuckles. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Get some rest.” Pressing his chin into Otacon’s curls, he inhaled the smell of his shampoo, felt the way his fingers twitched in his hold, the silent words his lips formed against his chest, concocting some form of apology he never voiced, then eventually Snake felt the touch loosen as he fell asleep, falling slack in his arms.

After a few minutes of confirming he was asleep, Snake carefully untangled himself and stood, Otacon’s face immediately contorting in discomfort, left without a warm body to lay on. Crouching down and carefully picking Otacon up, he quickly assessed that he was heavier than he looked, propping open Otacon’s bedroom door with his foot and laying him down in bed, hastily pulling back the covers and tucking him under. Quietly squeezing himself in as well, Snake pulls Otacon up against his chest again. Seemingly worn out from the emotional toll an anxiety attack had given him, Otacon never woke from all the fussing around, steady breathing resumed against Snake’s body, eventually falling asleep himself.

* * *

“When I was in high school, I was raped by my stepmother which caused my biological father to kill himself and almost drowned my stepsister in the process,” Otacon blurts when Snake walks back into the condo with breakfast he had picked up from a cafe.

“What?” Snake looks at the clock, surprised Otacon was _ up _ this early, let alone dropping that on him all of a sudden. The younger doesn’t respond, just takes a sip of coffee and continues staring blankly at an old newspaper. Sports article. Fully unsure of how to properly react, Snake closes the door, locks it, sets down the plastic bag on the table and starts unpacking their food. He doesn’t expect Otacon to eat, but he does in complete silence, promptly throwing up in the sink, unable to make it to the bathroom. Snake waits patiently while Otacon finishes, rinses it out, then drinks a glass of water. It’s when he slumps down to the floor that Snake finally makes a move, pulling out a pot from under one of the cabinets and sitting beside Otacon, ready if he were to get sick again. For a long time they don’t say anything; Otacon hiccups a couple times but doesn’t throw up, just scrunches his face uncomfortably until it passes. 

“You didn’t sleep last night.” Otacon nods. “But you felt too scared to get up.” He nods. “Did sleeping with me make it worse?” He hesitates for an uncomfortable amount of time before nodding again, making Snake inhale and exhale slowly through his nose. “I’m sorry.” There’s a lot that Snake wants to say, questions he wants to ask, but this was not the time nor place, and there will probably never be an appropriate moment to do so. 

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Neither do you.” Not willing to argue against that, Otacon pulls himself up to his knees to pour himself another glass of water, drinking it, hesitating to see if he would throw up again, then sitting back down. 

“That was a good breakfast. Didn’t mean to throw it up,” he concludes with a grimace. It probably didn’t taste good coming back up, especially if it wasn’t well digested. 

“Glad you at least ate. I know I said we weren’t going to apologize but I’m sorry if I rushed anything. I didn’t know.”

“I know,” Otacon says, sadly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t think it would bother me anymore.” He knew it would, and despite his best efforts to repress it, it always inevitably came back to haunt him. Snake offered no comment.

“I thought about it and I’m thinking of going to Louisiana tomorrow.” He looks over from the corner of his eye, catching the somewhat sad expression on Otacon’s face that he immediately hides. “Will you be okay here for a few days?”

“Yeah. I guess you really want to get away from me, huh?”

“I want to give you some space," he clarifies before Otacon can develop any further insecure thoughts, "I’m not leaving you, Otacon. I’d never leave. If you really don’t want me to go, I’ll stay here.”

“My problems shouldn’t interfere with work.”

“Then they won’t. Take as much time as you need, I’ll only be gone a couple days.” Unsure about what the appropriate caring gesture is, Snake overlaps his pinky on Otacon’s and rubs them together, a small smile at the corner of his lips. 

“I’ve never been to Louisiana.”

“I’ll bring you a souvenir.” 

“Thanks,” Otacon says, heavy on his tongue, and he rests his head on Snake’s shoulder. “I think I’m gonna go to sleep.”

“Do you want me to wake you?”

“No.” Pulling himself up, Otacon finishes off his water and sets it in the sink, slinking off to his room, shutting and locking the door before coming back, taking the pot from Snake and departing again. Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palm, Snake seeks out air freshener to lighten up the smell of vomit, packs the leftovers into the fridge and goes for a smoke, planning out his trip and whether or not leaving Otacon alone is really the best idea right now. 

In the instance Otacon copes in the same way Snake does by isolating, he decides to go buy groceries, a couple DVDs, some wine coolers (in the off chance he finds the desire to drink) and burner phones to keep in contact while he’s away, if he felt the need to. 

Unsurprisingly, Otacon doesn’t leave his room for the rest of the day, except to use the bathroom and get something light to eat, but he makes himself as small as possible to not be noticed by Snake, who tries to give him the most privacy he can. _ One step forward, two steps back_, he reminds himself bitterly, turning in early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> put a lot of research into treating bullet wounds before realizing it was unnecessary. lmao. also i PROMISE this is the last angsty thing this fic will have. tension will still be evident but, in my opinion, otacon's stepmom is always relevant to his character so i always write with that in mind. sorry.
> 
> thank you for reading..... this is almost finished but also this chapter was a LOT. i'm also sorry for that. hopefully i can finish this before school starts again


	12. XII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much for hopefully finishing before school starts - it's already midterms and i've been sick but i'm kickin' now. kinda. i might have to add another chapter because i was going astray from how i wanted to end this so here's just a long hunk of text as i try to get back on track. thank you for being patient!
> 
> it's almost 3am i hope this is decent lmao. here we go

Snake didn’t rest well throughout the night, and judging by the continuous flicks of the kitchen lightswitch, neither did Otacon. His looming shadow lingered down the hall and beneath the crack through Snake’s door, hesitant, then disappearing before eventually returning; a repetitive cycle of anxiety. A few times Snake considered leaving his room to invite Otacon in to talk if he wanted to, but something in his gut told him to just let the other pace. Eventually he must’ve tired himself out because the lights turned off one final time and his bedroom door closed and locked. Snake, in the meantime, busied himself with sketching, journaling notes and planning the mission. 

Shadow Moses had thrown him for a loop, Colonel dragging him for interrogation after they had both retired. Feels like every mission he’d been on was never completely secure unless he himself sought out the right sources. He was raised specifically for solo ops after leaving the Green Berets - it’d been a long time since he’s had someone to come home to after a mission. 

Otacon’s name made itself onto his page, childishly, like a schoolgirl fantasizing about her crush. He crossed it out before carefully writing _ Hal Emmerich _ beside it, then a small _ Dr. _in front. Forgetting Otacon was some kid with a doctorate who pissed himself when faced with Fox… To be fair, Snake supposes, no one could really have a natural reaction to that. Mentally, Snake crossed out Frank’s name and replaced it with Hal. Really felt like Otacon was taking up a lot of his mind. There seems to be a lot about Otacon that went beyond his geekish physique. Including what was dropped at brunch. A lot of weight rests on those bony shoulders. 

After a lone yawn escapes from Snake he decides to also try to actually rest, despite knowing it was already well beyond a good night’s sleep. Turning off the bedside lamp and settling under the covers, Snake hears the kitchen light turn on and sighs. Shuffling out of bed, Snake cracks his door open slightly and can practically hear Otacon jump out of his skin from down the hall, but is back in bed before they run into each other. The light turns off, but it’s a long moment until Otacon goes back into his room for the final last time.

* * *

The sun rises long after Snake does, hardly having slept at all. He chalks it up to pre-mission nerves, having not been out willingly for a few years now. Thinking about it too deeply felt like bile on his tongue, so he busied himself with packing as silently as possible in an attempt to not disturb Otacon, presumably asleep. Who knows, maybe Otacon slept nearly as little and was restless in his room. It was on him to come out, having built up a new, impenetrable wall. Yesterday’s discussion sat heavy in the condo; something that couldn’t be approached casually but didn’t deserve being ignored, after opening up. When Otacon wanted to bring it up again, Snake would listen, but for now he was reassembling his guns and thinking about how he didn’t miss driving for days on end.

“When are you leaving?” Otacon’s question surprises Snake, instinctively pointing the empty handgun in the direction of the voice. For whatever reason, Otacon is seemingly unfazed, wrapped in a blanket, appearing small and weary. 

“Soon.”

“Okay.”

“I got phones. Burners.”

“I saw.”

“Yeah.” Packing away his guns carefully, Snake reclines in the kitchen chair he was occupying, Otacon keeping his distance. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Could you at least put something in your stomach?” A grumpy sort of scowl crosses the scientist’s face before pulling his blanket cocoon closer around him and braving crossing the barrier to the kitchen. A handful of dry cereal that he eats with a sort of discontent look and half a glass of water later, he lingers, watching Snake jot down notes of things he’d need before he leaves.

“Have you set up the phones yet?”

“No. Don’t really know how.”

“I can look at them.” 

“Thanks.” Packing light was always a necessity, typically going in with the intention to borrow things from unfortunate grunts who cross his path.

“Hey,” Snake starts, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and rolling one between his fingers. “You know I’m not the best at words.” Otacon nods from where he sits, his back turned to Snake. “But I wanted to let you know I’m willing to listen whenever.”

“There’s not really much else to say.” Despite that being a blatant lie, Snake lets it be.

“And this doesn’t change the way I think about you. Or feel about you.”

“Yeah.”

“I hope that’s mutual.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this, Snake,” Otacon interrupts, dryly. “Thanks, though,” he adds in an attempt to not seem as harsh. Without any further comment, Snake slips out for a cigarette, rubbing at his tired eyes.

After a couple cigarettes in succession he returns, Otacon now standing closer to the door, as if waiting, though he seems indifferent to seeing Snake. 

“I got the phones figured out. Added about an hour each.” Handing over one of the pairs, Snake flips it open, Otacon already having sent him a blank message. “I put in the number this phone has, and vise versa. Don’t know how well it’ll actually work where you’ll be, but I guess that’s not very crucial. You’ve never used a burner phone before?”

“T usually supplies them, I just do what he says.”

“Ah. Right.” With that, Otacon slinks away again, into the bathroom and starts running a bath. He steps out after about a minute, having stripped with the blanket wrapped more carelessly around him, going into his bedroom to grab clothes before heading back to the bathroom, now donning a towel. Deciding to make use of this quiet moment, Snake seats himself down on the sofa, making himself comfortable and closes his eyes.

Snake wakes with a start some time later to the feeling of someone brushing his hair out of his face, Otacon flinching in surprise. 

“You were sweating,” he explains, backing off. “Are you sure you should drive? You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“Mm,” Snake mumbles, combing his hair back with his fingers and crossing his arms. “I miss Alaska.”

“Is Missouri too warm for you?” With a nod, his face contorts uncomfortably.

“Louisiana is going to be miserable.”

“It’ll make you appreciate the weather here more, huh?” Not a very reassuring statement, Snake yawns, turning on his side. 

“This couch smells like sweat.” 

“Yeah, well.” The memory of their sexual endeavors that took place there simultaneously crosses both their minds, but is not mentioned out loud. Instead, Snake clears his throat.

“I might rest some and leave tonight.”

“Okay.” A pause. “Are you hungry? I could get you food.”

“Are you not?”

“Not really.” 

“Okay. Whatever you think I’d like, it’s guaranteed to be better than rations.” In an odd, attempted comforting gesture, Otacon pats Snake’s head like a father does to reassure his son before leaving to fuss about and eventually leave the condo. Listening for the sound of the car pulling away, Snake then yanks down his jeans and pulls his half-hard erection out, trying to get himself off as quickly as necessary to just it out before he wouldn’t have the time. He tries not to think of anything in particular, but his thoughts round back to Otacon’s gentle touch. Despite how horrible he must feel, he still showed that warm compassion. Snake felt a little guilty about cumming to the idea of his partner - or whatever their relationship was at the moment - but cleaned up and took another smoke break, making the mental note to buy more Lucky Strikes when he was out.

* * *

Otacon walked back into the condo with cartons of Chinese food, setting up a bunch of little samples for Snake to pick from. 

“I don’t know if you like spicy food, but you seem like the type who does. I got some mild things, though.”

“Otacon.” Pointing a chopstick at the other, Snake hesitates briefly before continuing. “Are you okay?”

With a frown, Otacon asks to clarify what he meant by that.

“Sorry if this is, I don’t know, out of line to say, but this is… Extra. I don’t want you to feel like you have to overcompensate if you’re feeling shitty about something so I’m not mad at you or anything.” Otacon’s expression tells Snake that was exactly what he was doing and was reasonably upset for being called out on it. Knowing very well he had been caught, Otacon offers no response, and instead picks at a fortune cookie. “Like I said, I’m willing to listen.” Mumbling something under his breath, Otacon reads the fortune before creasing it and placing it upside down. 

“I’m sure you have your own share of past stuff.” Snake nods, chewing on a piece of chicken. “And even when you try not to think about it, it’s still there, but sometimes you get better at hiding it.” 

“Is that why you’re afraid of intimacy?” Otacon scoffs, keeping his hands busy but tearing open the plastic-wrapped silverware. 

“Bingo.”

“Sorry I rushed it.”

“It’s not that as much as…” with a heavy sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses askew. “I didn’t want it to fuck anything up. That wasn’t something I wanted to make you deal with. I’ve learned no one really wants to stay with me so I typically just push it aside but I guess there’s just been so much going on I couldn’t help it.”

“You felt safe letting it out with me?”

“That’s a nicer way to put it. I let my guard down but you haven’t abandoned me. Yet,” he adds quietly, bitter on his tongue. 

“Do you not want me to leave? I was going to head out a few days early to give you space but I really didn’t know if that was the best.”

“I mean, I’m an adult, you don’t have to worry so much about me.”

“Why can’t I? I care about you, and even if you won’t let me carry some of your baggage doesn’t mean I don’t want to know - if you’ll let me. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. If you want some time alone, I’ll leave. I’ve spent a few years wallowing in my own pities, I don’t want you to suffer with that any longer if I can do something about it. You can also tell me to fuck off, if you want.”

“I want some of that chicken if you aren’t going to eat it.” Blinking in momentary surprise, Snake chuckles, taking another piece before passing over the carton. 

“It’s hot.” 

“I can handle it.” Snake watches in surprise when Otacon eats it with ease. “Did you think I couldn’t?”

“You always catch me off guard with new information. I’d love to learn more.” Choking out a laugh, Otacon waves his hand to cut Snake off from saying anything else.

“That was so sappy. You’ve never gotten laid before? I feel like you could pull that on someone and they’d just go at it right there.” 

“Doesn’t seem to work on you,” mumbling under his breath, Snake takes a sip of beer, Otacon rolling his eyes and finishing off the chicken out of spite. Being able to joke about things feels like a dark fog has been lifted from the room and Snake lets out a content hum at the ability to breathe again. 

“I am sorry,” Otacon says after a prolonged silence while they finished eating. Putting away the leftovers and throwing away their empty boxes, Snake was in the process of taking out the trash when the apology arrived. “I appreciate everything you’ve done but I’m really not ready to talk about it anytime soon.”

“Okay.” A pause. “Will you tell me when things get bad? Can be some kind of codeword and we’ll stop. I’ll do the same, if things ever get to that.”

“We’ll have to think of something later, but sure.” 

“Do you, uh, want to stop? With the sex stuff. It’s up to you.” 

“I’m assuming you don’t, then?”

“It’s your call. I can manage things myself.” Letting out a snort, Otacon mulls it over before giving a half-shrug, indifferent but not fully disagreeing.

“Maybe.” Nodding, Snake lingers to see if Otacon will continue. “Don’t tell me you want to do something _ now_?” 

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“Your libido is insane. Aren’t you supposed to be leaving?”

“It can wait.”

“I swear, maybe you should get neutered. Testosterone levels are to the max.” 

“Blame the doctors who made me,” Snake says with a shrug. “Made me too horny for my own good.” 

“That's a kinda fucked up thing to say.”

“I think you’re just mad at my metabolism.” 

“In your dreams.” Finishing clearing up the table, Snake leaves to take out the trash while Otacon settles himself on the couch, per their previous experiences. Upon reentering the condo, Snake’s eyes widen in guilty pleasure, turning off the lights to let in the midday sunlight and sits on the opposing seat cushion. 

“Hey,” he tries to say, casually, making Otacon laugh. Turning on the TV instead and finding something decent as background noise, he keeps the volume high enough he could hear it, watching it to pass the time as he tries to calm his nerves. “We don’t have to,” Snake reminds him. “I can just hit the road and let you do whatever.” 

“No, I want to prove to myself I can overcome it.”

“...Is that really a wise idea?”

“Probably not,” Otacon admits. “But I want to, anyways.”

“Tell me if you want to stop.” After he nods, Snake pulls himself closer to Otacon, carefully running his hand up his arm before cupping his cheek, pulling him in slowly. He waits for Otacon to push forward, connecting their lips, and lets him lead initially.

“Hey,” Snake whispers, “could I try it?” 

“Try what? Getting me off?” 

“Yeah. Properly return the favor after so many times. If you don’t—”

“No, you can. Just, uh, be careful.” Sharing a brief smile, Snake kisses across Otacon’s scruffy jaw.

“I won’t keep asking you if you’re okay, but if I sense any discomfort I’ll stop, okay?” Humming in agreement, Snake pulls Otacon into his lap, spreading his legs and kissing down his neck, biting his earlobe like Otacon had, eliciting a very reassuring moan, despite how quiet it was. Goosebumps covered his skin when Snake snuck his hands under his shirt, feeling his hips and up his ribcage, stroking carefully as to not be too forceful. Whether or not he was aware of it, Otacon slowly started to rub his groin against Snake’s, friction against their jeans. 

“You seem to be enjoying this,” Snake notes.

“Please don’t talk,” Otacon responds, smashing their lips together. With a bit of shuffling around, the two of them succeed in getting Otacon’s shirt off, the after button to his jeans comes undone does he still. 

“Otacon—”

“I’m just.” Exhaling, he slumps his forehead against Snake’s, closing his eyes. “Nervous. _ Actually _nervous. You’re just so eager to try new things and I’m not used to that passion. God, that sounded embarrassing.” 

“It was cute.”

“Ack, don’t say that! That makes me feel more childish.” 

“Sorry.” Clearing his throat, Snake tucks his chin in and deepens his voice dramatically. “That was very brave of you to say, Otacon.” 

“Oh my god,” he laughs, trying to slide off of Snake’s lap before he’s held firmly in place. “Don’t do that again, it was kinda creepy.” He goes to mumble something in the same gruff voice before dropping it once he lets out a chuckle, wrapping his arms around Otacon’s middle and pulls him close, burying his face in the other’s chest. Experimentally, Snake kisses up his sternum, then looks up to Otacon to gauge his response. He’s wearing a smile on his face, combing his fingers through Snake’s hair, and he suddenly wants to see that blissful expression when he touches Otacon everywhere, kissing and tasting every bit of skin. 

As he continues, he feels with his hands, brushing his thumb over Otacon’s nipples as was done to him before, peering back up and seeing no noticeable change of expression aside from _ content_.

“Uh,” Snake says, dumbly, causing Otacon to look down.

“Oh. My nipples aren’t sensitive,” he explains, half-shrugging. “Sorry.” 

“Got it. Now what?” 

“Sorry?”

“What do you want me to do next?” Sitting more upright, Snake peers into Otacon’s eyes, still behind his glasses. Some sense of disappointment must’ve crossed his face because Otacon cups his cheeks and holds him a hair’s breadth away.

“Snake. Stop overthinking. I do enough of that for the both of us.”

“Maybe we should stop.”

“I feel like that’s my line,” he laughs. “Is something wrong?” 

“Seems like you aren’t enjoying it,” Snake huffs, bottom lip practically jutted out in a pout.

“Just because my nipples aren’t as touchy as yours doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world. I’m also not as vocal as you apparently are, so don’t get stressed about that, either.” 

“Okay.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Snake sighs. “Okay,” he repeats. 

“Calm down. Here, if it’ll help,” Otacon starts, rolling off of Snake and onto his back, kicking off his jeans and tossing them aside, stretching himself out on the couch, now down to just his briefs. 

“Do you want me to do the same?”

“If you want.” Snake opts not to undress and focuses instead on pleasing Otacon, as was the original plan, feeling up the other’s bare legs, warming up the goosebumps from being abruptly exposed. The hair on his legs is light and fuzzy, unlike the darker, more coarse hair around his navel and beyond. Out of habit and necessity, Snake had shaved today, taking his time in feeling the natural form of Otacon’s body, noting his moles and birthmarks. 

Without thinking about it, Snake dips his head down and kisses a particular mole on the top of Otacon’s left thigh, making him stifle what almost sounds like a giggle. When Snake peers up, Otacon’s face remains neutral but pleased in his attempt to hide his ticklishness. Dismissing it and going back with more caution, Snake presses small kisses along his leg, feeling the right one as he goes. 

“Hey, Otacon?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I suck you off?”

Otacon’s eyebrows shoot over his glasses.

“Are you sure?” Snake nods, ecstatic. “I-I mean— That’s kind of a big step for you, I think. Don’t you think so?”

“You don’t want me to.”

“No, hah, I’m just surprised. I feel like if we’re taking things slow, that shouldn’t happen for a while—”

“You don’t want me to,” Snake repeats, slowly. “Are we taking things slow or naturally?”

“Either way, oral is…”

“Otacon. I’m asking you if you want me to or not. This is about you, remember?” 

“It’s been a long time since I was given head,” he laughs, looking away, embarrassed. “If you feel okay with it, then yeah, I’d like it,” his voice trails off, cheeks red. “It’s okay if you're bad, too,” Otacon adds, making Snake laugh. 

“Goddamn. You already have that little faith in me, huh?”

“That’s not it. I was bad my first time, I guess I wasn’t expecting you to be any better.”

“Guess I’ll have to prove you wrong, then. Just to make sure - you’re comfortable, right?” Otacon nods. “And do you want me to do this?” He nods again after a brief pause, then verbally assures Snake to go ahead, tucking his own thumbs into his waistband before Snake lightly swats them away, kissing his way up Otacon’s thigh, over the briefs and to his stomach, back up his ribs and kisses his lips, gingerly. The action makes Otacon moan quietly, as if melting, easing his anxieties away as slowly as Snake can. Trailing his hand back down, Snake carefully cups his erection, feeling it through the fabric, getting to know it after hastily rushing it last time. 

After deciding he had stalled for enough time, Snake slowly pulls down Otacon’s briefs, watching his face and almost misses the heavy slap of it hitting against his stomach. Taking it in one of his hands, Snake steadies himself against the back of the sofa, fixing Otacon’s legs to be bent at the knees and fully removing the briefs, observing silently. Naturally, his cock pulses under his hand when he grips gently, noting how different it is to stroke from this angle. 

“Do you have any tips?” Snake asks, shifting to find a comfortable position for the both of them. 

“So you _ don’t _ know what you’re doing, huh?”

“I can figure it out once I start it.” 

“Okay, well. Make sure your lips are wet and you have saliva in your mouth. You could spit but I personally don’t care for that.” Snake nods, taking mental note of Otacon’s turn offs. “Generally, the advice is to tuck your lips around your teeth, but so long as you know to _ not _ bite, that shouldn’t be an issue. You can also stroke whatever you can’t reach, and don’t force yourself to go too far or anything. Really do not want you throwing up on me. I’ll let you know what feels good and what doesn’t, too. Everyone has their own technique and rhythm - I’m sure you can figure it out.” 

Processing his advice, Snake takes the member in his hold, giving a few tentative strokes. It’s different from his own - naturally - and he was somewhat rough in his own pleasure that he didn’t want to cause Otacon any discomfort. As he did so, he stared with such intense eyes, assessing what he was working with, which almost made Otacon laugh. 

It was unfamiliar to him to have someone genuinely put so much attention and devotion into making sure _ he _ was enjoying it that he almost didn’t know what to do but feel like something was wrong. He tried to swallow those feelings and focused on actually feeling good, and when he was momentarily lost in his own anxieties he gasped when Snake licked up the base along his vein, flicking his tongue off the head. There was the smallest hint of a smirk on his lips - proud of himself to have been able to elicit that reaction. The elder repeats this a few times before switching to mouthing along the shaft, wetting it as much as he could before then taking the head just beyond his lips, feeling with his tongue and drooling over Otacon’s dick in the process. A little too much for his taste, but watching Snake quickly adapt what he was doing by the responses he was receiving by Otacon was almost too much. 

When Snake’s hand joined his mouth, not yet stroking but simply holding him firmly in place, Otacon’s lips parted in a quiet _ oh_, tilting his head back. 

“You don’t have to be quiet, you know,” Snake quietly reminds him, breath ghosting over the warm skin. “There’s no one else here or in the building next to ours.”

“Force of habit. Roommates and— ah—” cutting him off mid sentence by swallowing in more, up until the tip reaches his soft palate, then beginning to turn his wrist and stroke.

“_Snake_,” he hisses, his right hand combing through Snake’s hair for purchase.

“David,” comes a quiet whisper. “Call me David. Please.” 

“Oh, fuck, David— you’re better than I thought,” chuckling awkwardly, Otacon focuses on steadying his breathing, though he can feel an orgasm oncoming. They hadn’t discussed this part of the process yet, Otacon not quite sure how exactly he wanted to finish that Snake would feel comfortable with. “Dave,” mouth suddenly dry, he swallows to try to find the words. “How do you want to do this?” 

“How we did it last time?” Snake suggests, only pulling off to speak, devoting all of his attention to the task at hand. When he had sucked Snake off, Otacon had just stroked him to completion and soiled his chest, which Otacon could work with, nodding in agreement. “I’m assuming this means you’re close, right?” 

“Y-yeah. Christ.” Trying hard not to buck into the warmth that is Snake’s mouth, Otacon busies himself grabbing Snake’s hair, who doesn’t seem to mind it. Something to possibly look into at another point. 

Grinding his teeth together, Otacon wills himself to let go, telling Snake he was going to cum, though he doesn’t pull off until the first pump hits the back of his mouth, and on the way out gets on his cheek, the rest of it landing sloppily on Otacon’s stomach, followed by the wet slap of his wet skin against skin. Catching his breath, he sees Snake swallow with a somewhat pensive expression, then wipes what hit his face off with his shirt before Otacon can properly apologize or save the sight of Snake with his cum on his face. 

Sitting up and laying Otacon’s legs back down into a more natural position, Snake then pauses before speaking. 

“Hey, Otacon?” He asks, voice quiet, as if sharing a secret. “Is it okay if I finish myself off?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” He asks, breathlessly. 

“...Can I do it on you?”

“Oh.” Pushing himself up on his elbows, Otacon looks at his soiled stomach and to Snake, eyes curious and erection bulging in his jeans. “Sure, go ahead.” It takes Snake no more than a minute to pull down his jeans and fish out his dick, barely free from his clothes and gives himself a few strokes before hitting his orgasm, accompanied by a low but loud moan, watching the ropes land across the pale stomach before sluggishly slouching, staring at their combined mess. His stomach flexes when he laughs, Otacon looking up to Snake's eyes, fixated. Patting Snake's thigh, he motions for Snake to get up and help clean before it spills onto the couch. 

Snake was thoughtful enough to get a damp cloth, wiping the mess away and cleaning the skin before the two of them redressed, lounging on the sofa, silent. 

“How was that?” Sitting upright, their knees meet, otherwise not touching each other.

“Better than I expected.”

“So it was good?”

“Yes, Snake. Congrats. I liked watching you get off, also,” he admits, unabashedly. Putting his glasses back on, Otacon lets himself lean against Snake, closing his eyes before asking, “you’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”

“I won’t be gone long. You could come with, if you want, but I don’t think you’re experienced enough yet to be out.”

“You’re taking that arm with you, right? I’d like to be able to cook without seeing that in the freezer. Also,” sitting back up, Otacon turns, looking Snake dead-on. “Did you buy me _ wine coolers_?” Snake nods. “To what, drink my sorrows away with a _ Mike’s Hard_?” 

“Do you like the heavier stuff?”

“No, but malt isn’t exactly the type of drink someone would go to if they wanted to get drunk.”

“I spent years drinking in order to stop thinking,” he says, voice heavy. “I don’t expect you to do the same, nor do I want you to, but if you felt the need to I’d rather it was something light. Don’t want you to keep getting sick like you have been.” 

“Oh, that’s right.” Turning back to the TV, it’s playing some obnoxiously long infomercial about a blender. 

“How are you feeling?” Snake asks, trying to shift the topic to something a little lighter.

“Tired, but better. Like I overcame a hurdle, as sappy as that sounds. I’ve still got a lot going forward and it won’t be easy, but for right now I feel… safe.” 

“Good.” Stretching his hand out, he intertwined his fingers with Otacon’s, idly rubbing their thumbs together as they then watched the advertisement in silence. 

“Had a roommate once,” the younger begins, “total health nut. Blended all his food together with those protein packets. Couldn’t stand him but he was constantly staying in his girlfriend’s room so I never dealt with him much, but when he was with me it was like he took up the entire apartment.”

“I knew a guy who wouldn’t eat unless someone tasted it first. I’m sure there was some origin, but it started to freak a couple other guys out that their food could be poisoned. Really, I think he was just picky and wanted to make sure it tasted fine before he ate it.” 

“I’m sure that could be a reality in the service.”

“This was high school, but all cafeteria food is the same, really. I had some of my best and worst meals in the army. When you haven’t eaten in a few days, a ration is like manna to a soldier.” 

“Can’t say I’ve ever been that desperate, but one time I was working overtime and someone brought me half of their sandwich. It was just turkey, cheese and mayo on wheat bread but if that wasn’t the best sandwich I had ever had…” Otacon sighs, closing his eyes at the memory. “I don’t even like turkey and it smelled like it had been wrapped in plastic too long, but it was better than granola bars and vending machine drinks.” 

“If it’s made with care, any food can taste good. I think one of the best meals I’ve had was liver, fava beans and wine.” From beside Snake, Otacon’s eyebrows pinch together, gears turning in his head. 

“What kind of wine?”

“Chianti.” 

“And _ I’m _ the nerd.”

“There’s nothing nerdy about a good film. Award-winning, mind you.” 

“Whatever,” he says with a grin, getting up from the couch and excusing himself to the bathroom.

When he returns, Snake has moved to the balcony, colder than it had been but warmer than he preferred. With a cigarette between his fingers, he tries to keep it downwind from Otacon. 

“You’ve never resorted to cannibalism,” Otacon inquires, “right?” 

“What do you think the army is? It’s not like we recreate the Donner party for fun.” 

“That was grossly vague.”

“No, Otacon, I’ve never resorted to cannibalism.” Pulling another drag, he hesitates making a quip, but dismisses it. “Despite what I may have done, I could never do that to another man. Even if I had killed him, I couldn’t disrespect him like that. You learn to get used to the feeling and desensitize yourself to death, but that is still a man, no different than you or I. Regardless if he’s the enemy or what he’s done, on the battlefield we are nothing more than pawns of a bigger scheme.” Otacon listens quietly, suddenly wishing he could grab one of those drinks to let himself unwind. He wasn’t keen on heavy subjects but he felt inclined to listen. 

“Sometimes an enemy is just a friend in the wrong place at the wrong time, but show any hesitance and you’ll be the one in the ground. Spare emotions for later, or,” taking a long inhale, Snake blows the smoke from his nose, “keep them bottled up. There’s no time to mourn when you can never know if you’re next.” Waiting for Snake to continue, he seems to have finished his monologue, putting out the butt and lighting another smoke. 

“Have you ever seen a James Bond movie?”

“Probably. Read a few books here and there but don’t remember any in specific. Why?”

“That was a very Bond villain speech. Not to say you’re villainous or anything - it was cool and all, just struck me as the kind of thing a bad guy would say before revealing his evil plan in his way of justifying his actions.”

“Yeah, okay, _ nerd_. I don’t have an evil plan; just a man trying to survive one day to the next. I’ve seen a lot of things in my lifetime, a lot that’d surely make any other man lose his mind, but you know what they say: _ Live and Let Die._”

“Huh!” Otacon exclaims, crossing his arms and leaning his back against the railing. “I don’t know if you think you’re slick, but I happen to be a pretty avid movie watcher.”

“Have you seen _ Live and Let Die_?”

“No,” he admits.

“Me neither,” and Snake snuffs out his cigarette.

The two of them stand in content silence, listening to the rustling of leaves across the parking lot as the wind twirls them around. 

“What time do you need to leave?” 

“Really, I could stay ‘til tomorrow, so long as I leave before dusk; just cuts out any free time to sightsee.” 

“You can leave today, if that’s why you’re staying. I… I’m fine. I’ll be fine,” Otacon clarifies, looking down at his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Snake move, turning to see his hand is extended. It brings back an odd memory as he hesitantly shakes, a little unsure on what this intention was. 

“Promise?” Snake asks, a little too late after having already exchanged a handshake, but Otacon meant it, nodding to confirm and repeating his promise. “Good. After a shower I’ll finish packing and head out.” He departs after that, Otacon lingering outside a few more minutes before heading it and locking the exterior door, busying himself with cleaning around the kitchen. 

Snake eventually walks back in, skin damp where it’s exposed from his sneaking suit half-on, zipped up to his hips. It’s the one he had in Alaska, as bulky as it was then. Wordlessly, he starts shucking off the heavier items, designed to help keep him warm in the sub-zero temperatures he had to endure, dressing back up in a simple, skin-tight sort of fabric, no body protection otherwise. 

“You remember what I showed you about bullet wounds, right?” He asks, snapping some of the straps in place, staring directly at Otacon, who shivers at the memory and nods, feebly. “I highly doubt anything will come to that; this is mainly just precaution. Most likely I won’t even strip down to this and just keep civilian clothes on. Even if so, I’ll patch them up myself until I come back and can properly take care of them, so don’t worry.” Accompanied with a smile that is definitely not reassuring, he pulls a hoodie over and slips into a pair of jeans. Immediately he looks uncomfortably warm, but bears with it and grabs a medium-sized duffel bag, loaded with an extra pair of clothes, a small medical kit, some weapons, and wrapped in a horrific amount of ice, Ocelot’s severed hand. Otacon can’t bear to look at it, instead going back to awkwardly staring beyond Snake’s form of loading his bag and out one of the windows. 

“It’s funny,” talking to distract himself, Otacon blurts the first thought he has. “I would’ve never imagined finding this… normal but I guess life’s funny in that way. Not that I’m really fond of watching you pack a bag of guns and body parts, but a year ago I don’t know how I would’ve reacted to this.”

“Pissed yourself,” Without looking up from zipping up his bag, Snake’s retort is immediate, face tucked away though his eyes are creased, hiding a smirk. 

“Funny. Forgot you have such a sense of humor,” he drones sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 

“I’ll keep you updated on the drive. Would be nice if you could alternate with me, but I can powernap. I’ll let you know when I do stop and when I leave. That way you’ll know if something goes wrong if I don’t report back.” 

“Got it.”

“I probably won’t bring this car back. Do you have any personal belongings in it?” 

“No.”

“Good. Don’t get into the habit of that. If, in some worst case scenario, you need to relocate, leave my belongings. I have my necessities with me and if I lose them, well, shit out of luck. If anyone comes here without my prior instructions, arm yourself.”

“Typical procedures.” 

“Right, but you’re going to be manning this alone.” Hoisting his bag over his shoulder, he slips on his shoes and grabs the car keys. “I doubt you could shoot someone if you needed to, but we’ve done a good job not leaving any tracks that it probably won’t be necessary. If you get any suspicion for anything, call me. However, there will be some times when I will have to turn the phone off. If you cannot reach me, hide and wait until I call you. If you feel like you’re in danger and my call will give you away…” Snake pauses, furrowing his brow for a moment. “That probably won’t happen, but we’ll have to work on that another time.”

“Jeez, you’re really playing it up like a SWAT team will be kicking down the door as soon as you leave.”

“Always prepare for anything - you never know what’s out there. You’ll be fine, though.” Patting Otacon’s shoulder, he gives the same almost uncomfortable looking smile that Otacon doesn’t want to pry. Snake, however, does hesitate, standing still before the other.

“Do you want a goodbye kiss?” He jokes, trying to suppress a roll of his eyes when Snake nods. “Again, your libido is insane.”

“Maybe we should do something about that,” comes the attempted flirt, but Snake still has the serious, giving life or death instructions tone of voice that it comes off almost as an order. 

“Get out of here before I decide to change the locks.” That cracks a smile from Snake, who leans in for a kiss, getting a brief peck before Otacon pulls back, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets. “We got a little carried away last time you asked for one kiss, so that’s all your getting.” Accepting his defeat with a mumble under his breath, Snake triple checks his belongings before leaving, touching Otacon’s shoulder again, as if confirming he was real and would be there when Snake returned.

Almost reluctantly Snake leaves, Otacon watching from the window as he tosses the back in the passenger seat, checking the tires and around the perimeter of the car before turning the ignition and leaving, pulling out of the parking lot and out of view. 

No less than a minute later the burner phone on the coffee table rings, Otacon jolting in surprise before making a dive for it, answering it quickly.

“Is something wrong?” He asks, anxiety spiking already.

“No, just wanted to make sure this works. In about an hour I’ll stop for food.”

“Okay. Won’t they think a guy in a hoodie, jeans and a bandana with  _ gloves _ underneath is a little weird? Especially in this weather?”

“That’s why I’m waiting for specific gas stations that generally don’t think twice about who’s shopping there. I’m sure they’ve seen weirder. You could just call me a germaphobe and that might get a judgemental scoff but no one really pays attention.” Otacon can almost hear Snake shrug through the shitty phones they were using, the idle sound of radio static filling in the silence. “Don’t try to miss me too much, either.”

“I’ll make sure to dream of you tonight.”

“I love you,” Snake says with a laugh that is nothing but completely enamored, abruptly hanging up before Otacon can react, which was helpful because he wasn’t sure  _ how _ to respond to that. 

Instead, Otacon puts the phone somewhere he could hear it wherever he wandered off to and grabbed a drink, taking a sip and reheating some of their lunch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think it's kinda funny looking back at this piece in whole because i was initially basing it off a lot of personal experiences and kinda realizing... man, maybe those aren't good experiences. anyhoo. 
> 
> thank you for reading! can't believe this is almost done. wowza. sorry for the abrupt ending - i was hitting over 6500 words and needed a stopping point. 
> 
> comments appreciated as always, and i hope all my fellow students have been managing all right with, you know, everything going on. good luck out there.


End file.
